Giants of the Frost Read online

  “Hi,” I said, peeking out. It was Gordon.

  “Morning, Vicky,” he said cheerfully. “How are you?”

  I closed the cold room door behind me. “Terrible. Really, really sick. That bug that you had—”

  “You must have caught it. So sorry. Vomiting?”

  I nodded, trying to look pale and trembly.

  “Diarrhea?”

  I nodded again, hoping he wouldn’t probe much further. I didn’t want to talk bodily functions with Gordon.

  “You’ll be better in a day or two. I feel fine now.”

  “Thanks. I came over to get some breakfast but I’m not feeling up to work. Could you let Magnus know?”

  “That you’re sick? Of course.” He gave me a theatrical wink. “Let’s hope we spread it around. No point in keeping it to yourself, eh?”

  “That’s right,” I said, not a hundred percent sure what he meant because half my mind and all of my heart was back at the cabin. “I might go back to bed.” With that, I was out the door, my booty under my arm and my heart thudding with excitement.

  I found Vidar in the kitchen, freshly showered with a towel around his waist and his hair trailing damp on his warm shoulders.

  I caught my breath. He turned around.

  “I got milk,” I said, offering the carton as proof.

  He took my wrist, cast the carton of milk aside and dragged me to the sofa. I was utterly helpless in his hands, partly owing to his irresistible, hot skin, and partly the unyielding power of his body. Only his fingertips knew how to be gentle and my flesh responded to the combination of relentless and tender with greedy longing.

  Then, dressed in Gunnar’s long-sleeved T-shirt and the checked pajamas, Vidar was treated to his first-ever breakfast of Weetabix, which he liked well enough. I showered, we tumbled into my bed and idled the hours away in conversation, kisses and long dozes.

  I woke in the late afternoon. The last beam of sunlight diffused through the curtain. Vidar was still asleep. I had dreamed of my old life, the one where nothing supernatural had ever been admitted. It had been a simple dream, not a sad one. As I watched Vidar’s face, made soft and boyish by slumber, desire glowed in my heart, but the first thought to chase it was fear. Oh, I had got myself into a big, big mess. We had spent enough time in the lull of each other’s company. I had to start working on a solution.

  A knock at the cabin door broke into my thoughts. Vidar’s eyes flew open. I was out of the bed and pulling on my dressing gown. I held my finger to my lips for him, then rushed to the door.

  “Gunnar, hi,” I said, blocking the doorway with my body.

  “Hi, Vicky. I brought you some dinner.” He held out a plate with aluminum foil over the top.

  “You didn’t have to,” I said, taking the plate.

  “Can I come in?”

  “You’d better not. Wouldn’t want you to catch this bug.”

  “You look fine. It’s probably not contagious.”

  I held up my hand to stop him advancing. “Really, Gunnar. I’d rather be alone in my misery.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I felt a pang of guilt. “We’ll catch up in a couple of days,” I said, “when I’m feeling better.”

  “Okay.” He raised his hand once, then dropped it, backing away. “Sleep well.”

  I closed the door and returned to the bedroom. Vidar waited, an expression of curiosity on his face.

  “Who was it?”

  “Gunnar. My friend.” I laid the plate on the bedspread. “He’d like to be more than my friend.”

  Vidar’s eyebrows drew down. “What would he like?”

  I whipped the aluminum foil off: fish and chips, with Maryanne’s special seafood sauce. “He’s a nice guy, don’t worry,” I said. “You’re wearing his clothes.”

  He reached for a chip and tried it. “I like Midgard cooking,” he said.

  “This is Maryanne’s cooking. I promise you mine isn’t as good.” I sat cross-legged on the bed while we shared the meal. “Now, we need to work out what we’re going to do.”

  He shook his head sadly. “It’s too late. I have marked you, now he can find you.”

  “You need to lay it all out for me, Vidar. The logic of it. You waited for me for a thousand years. What did you think would happen? Didn’t you have a grand solution?”

  “I had a simple solution. I thought that I would find you, keep you secret from my father, be with you.”

  “That’s it? Just keep me secret?”

  Vidar averted his eyes and his voice became soft. “It isn’t the kind of secret I could keep for eternity, but we don’t have eternity.”

  It took a moment for this to sink in. Of course. He would live long after I had grown old and died. “You mean—?”

  “Only the length of a single human life span. Last time, it all went wrong when I told Vali. This time, I intended to tell no one. The years would pass unnoticed by my family. But I said a rash thing last time; that I would run away to Midgard forever. That is what my father fears so much . . .”

  I paused for a few seconds, the knowledge of my inevitable death blistering hot in my brain. A rough wind shook the windowpane, a flurry of raindrops. It seemed I had little time left. Fifty or sixty years perhaps? Half of that as an old lady, full of aches and pains, wrinkled and saggy. Measured against his life span, it was infinitesimal.

  “Vidar, you waited a thousand years to be with me for just a handful?”

  “Love is eternal,” he said, and his words hung in the air for long moments afterward. Gradually I became aware that I had not finished asking him all the questions I had thought of.

  “Did you think we’d be together here or in Asgard?” I continued.

  “Here. My father would find you in Asgard. He rarely turns his attention here anymore.”

  “Then what’s your specific concern?”

  “I’ve been with you. We’ve created a spark that he may sense. If he suspects, he’ll go to the seeing-water and know everything.”

  “You didn’t think of the spark before?” I said gently.

  “I didn’t know it. The first time I came, I remembered how vulnerable you were and became frightened. I went to my mother for advice and she told me to beware.”

  I processed all this as I wiped my greasy fingers on a napkin. “So, how did you know I was here on Othinsey?”

  “I sensed you. One morning.”

  “You sensed me. What does that mean? Specifically.”

  “It’s like a prickle of awareness. As though someone is in the room with you that you can’t see.”

  “And you’re afraid that Odin will feel this prickle?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long had you known I was back here on Midgard?”

  “Since that morning.”

  “When was it?”

  “A few weeks before I came for you.”

  A light glimmered on in my mind. “Not before?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all?”

  He looked puzzled. “No.”

  I nodded slowly. “So tell me about this seeing-water. Odin can use it to see what’s happening here on Midgard?”

  “Yes. We all can. I have used it many times to look for you. Then to see you, when you returned to Midgard.”

  “When I returned to Othinsey,” I corrected him. The thrill of possibility bubbled inside me. “Do you not see the difference?”

  “The difference?”

  I leaned forward and met his gaze. “Vidar, I’m twenty-seven years old. I’ve been back here on Midgard for nearly three decades. You only sensed me, you could only see me, when I came to Othinsey. Your sixth sense and your seeing-water . . . they don’t work outside this island. It’s a stepping-stone, like you said, and your father’s magic doesn’t work beyond it. If you and I got off Othinsey, I bet he couldn’t find us.”

  I could see this sinking in.

  “There are six billion people in Midgard, Vidar. There are vast places you haven�
�t even dreamed about. We could disappear.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” he said. “I share his blood. Perhaps the connection is strong enough to work throughout Midgard.”

  “But he can only find you in the seeing-water, right? If he doesn’t have that—”

  “He’d have to come here. He’d have to get off this island, travel in a world where he no longer belongs, find his way through all the continents and all the people . . .” Vidar’s eyes were alight. “I could poison Sjáfjord. The water would take centuries to clear. Enough time for us—”

  “The boat goes on Wednesday.”

  “I’ll return to Asgard tonight.”

  The rain set in shortly after nightfall, cold and insistent as we hurried into the forest away from the eyes at Kirkja. I waited under an umbrella while Vidar packed up his camp and saddled Arvak. All the while my chest ached with fear and yearning. The possibility of our being together was too precious; there was so much at stake.

  “Please, please be careful,” I said as he tightened Arvak’s saddle.

  “I will. You too.”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid of letting you out of my sight.”

  “I welcome the separation if it means we’ll be together a lifetime.”

  I frowned. “Vidar, will you still love me when I’m not young anymore? When I’m a wrinkly old woman?”

  He touched my face with the back of his hand. “Victoria, I would love you under any circumstances.”

  “But you’ll stay young and strong.”

  Vidar seemed bewildered. “All the better for taking care of you when you are old and frail.”

  “There’s a romance in growing old together, Vidar,” I said, trying to laugh it off but finding a lump in my throat.

  He leaned under the umbrella and kissed me, then said, “Let each season come when it comes, Victoria. Do not fret about winter while spring blooms around you.”

  I smiled. “I’ll arrange everything. Be back by Tuesday night. I’ll work out a way of getting you on the boat, even if I have to pack you in a crate myself.”

  He pulled me into an embrace and I dropped the umbrella in the mud. “Victoria,” he said, his breath hot in my ear, “if I haven’t returned, you must go without me.”

  “I know,” I said reluctantly.

  “If I’m not here, it means things have gone wrong, that you’re no longer safe.”

  “I know,” I repeated, more firmly. “I know.” I stood back and gazed at him. Raindrops clung to his hair and eyebrows. “But you’ll be back.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  The ground shifted underneath me as a sick fear of loss swirled in my stomach. “And I love you. Go on. Leave fast, return faster.”

  He held my gaze a few moments longer, then turned and climbed onto Arvak’s back. “Come on, Arvak. Quickly now.”

  Arvak snorted and sped forward. I saw them plowing between the trees, I saw a shiver of amber and violet light, then they disappeared and I was all alone in the rain with a muddy umbrella and a vague presentiment of ill fate ahead of us.

  Twenty-Seven

  I returned to my cabin and changed into dry clothes, mulling over possible escape routes in my head. Assuming I could smuggle Vidar onto the boat without anyone knowing, what then? When we arrived in Norway, where neither of us spoke the language, how would I get him to England without a passport? I supposed I could learn Norwegian and try to get by in a strange land, but it would limit my ability to earn us a living. Could Vidar work? Without references, a history, a birth certificate? It looked impossible, but I refused to accept that it was. I did know that I couldn’t plan this escape alone, and I paced up and down my hallway seventy-four times before I decided that I would have to ask Gunnar for help. He knew Norway, the language, the systems. He knew about getting cargo on and off the Jonsok. He knew about computers and networks and information. And, I was almost certain, I could rely on him not to ask too many questions.

  “I thought you were sick,” he said, leaning on the open door.

  “Maryanne’s cooking made me feel better.” I smiled. “It’s raining out here.”

  “Come in,” he said. “I’ve got the heater on. It’s cold tonight.”

  “It’s always cold. We’re in the middle of the bloody Norwegian Sea,” I said, hanging my raincoat on the back of a kitchen chair. “Could we have a cup of tea?”

  “Certainly, my lady. Make yourself comfortable.”

  I sat on the sofa, warmed my toes in front of the bar heater. On the scarred coffee table he had a stack of books and drawings. I picked one up to examine it. A Viking warrior. “How come this chap doesn’t have horns on his helmet?” I called.

  “Vikings didn’t have horns on their helmets. It’s a common misconception.” Cups and spoons clinked. “You can move those papers if they’re in your way. Put them on my desk.”

  I picked up the books and carried them to the bookshelf, then gathered the papers and found I held in my hand the photocopy Gunnar had read to me once, about the day Odin had come to the island. I scanned it, but it was in Norwegian.

  Gunnar put a cup of tea in front of me. “Find something interesting?” he said.

  “Please read this to me again,” I said, thrusting the photocopy into his hand.

  “Why?”

  “Just interested.” I sat on the sofa and cradled my cup of tea. Now that I had access to some of Halldisa’s memories, I wondered if Isleif’s writings would stir something in me. “That bit about the last day . . . the weather.”

  Gunnar sat opposite me and, as he read, fragments of memory fluttered light and dark in my mind’s eye.

  “The late morning grows hot. The children paddle naked in the water. I have never experienced such a heat, even in the middle of summer. The fires of hell itself could not be warmer.”

  The little girls calling to each other, playing a game. Me, trapped inside, wondering when Asbjorn would grow tired of this game and let me free to find Vidar. Frustration upon frustration. Sticky heat clinging to me, poaching my eyes.

  “At dusk, the heat drained suddenly and sharply, and across the whole island stole a great frost. The trees are white, the lake has frozen over and the ground is covered in crystals.”

  The creak of heat transforming to ice. My skin cold, my innards yet to catch up. Superstitious murmurings from my mother. I venture a glance outside. Ice everywhere. The first glimmer of fear. Asbjorn slams the door on my fingers. “Stay inside, whore.” A distant howl, the wind spinning off the sea.

  “It is now dark and there are fearsome sounds in the forest. A cruel wind gathers force and we all huddle inside by the fire in fear of what may happen next.”

  In the church, Isleif is pale with fear. Hakon screams about letting the blood of one of the cows to appease Odin. Asbjorn clutches his three little daughters to him and prays until his eyes are glassy. Something bangs on the door. Dogs howl, the wind shudders over the roof. “Send the whore outside, that’s what they want!” Asbjorn shrieks. Isleif wrenches my arm, throws me out into the storm. At once, the wind drops to an eerie, expectant stillness. I draw a breath. A dark, hulking figure moves in the distance. I see the glint of steel . . .

  “Vicky? What’s wrong?”

  Gunnar was leaning across the coffee table, trying to get my attention.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I managed.

  “You zoned out.”

  “It’s very evocative, isn’t it,” I said, feigning a casualness I didn’t feel. “The description.”

  Gunnar settled back in his armchair and slurped his tea. “You didn’t think so last time I read it to you.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” It was suddenly achingly clear that everyone else here at the station was in danger. Vidar and I had to get off the island before Odin sensed us. “Gunnar, I need your help.”

  He looked at me over the top of his cup and his eyebrows twitched. “You sound really serious.”

  “I am. I have to leave the island.”


  “Ah.” An expression of sadness lit his eyes and then passed. “Too much of Magnus?”

  “Yes, I suppose. And other things. Too complicated to explain.”

  “Not me, though? I haven’t scared you off by asking you to run away with me to New Zealand?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Not you. You’re a good reason to stay.”

  “Have you told Magnus yet?”

  “Not yet. If I wanted to get something large off the island—secretly—how could I do it?”

  “Smuggling, Vicky? Do I get a cut of your profits for helping? Is it drugs or diamonds?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t tell you any more than I already have. Sorry.”

  He sipped his tea and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. “Let me think . . . how large?”

  “About as large as a man.”

  “And how heavy?”

  “About as heavy as a man.”

  Gunnar met my gaze. “I see.”

  “Please don’t ask any questions.”

  “We have six-foot crates in the storage shed. They came with the struts for the satellite dish. If you were leaving, you could say you needed one to pack all your belongings. You’d put your diamonds in the crate, and you and I would carry it on to the Jonsok claiming it’s fragile and you don’t trust the deckhands.”

  Six feet. Might be a bit cramped, but I was sure he could endure it for ten hours.

  Gunnar continued: “I’ll pack up all your things after you’re gone and send them to you by mail over the following weeks, so as not to attract suspicion. Tell me, do we need breathing holes for these diamonds?”

  “We might,” I said guardedly.

  “Then we’ll have to drill those in before we pack them.”