The Sleeping Army (11 page)

Roskva spread her cloak on the ground. ‘I don't know about the rest of you but I'm tired,' she said. ‘I'm staying here.'

After a moment's hesitation, everyone joined her.

Freya tried not to think about tomorrow. But as she lay down on the bear fur cloak, troubled thoughts whirled in her head. Even if she lived long enough to reach Thrymheim, how could Idunn still be at Thjazi's? It had all happened so long ago … And if Idunn were still there, how could they rescue her from a giant? Freya clutched her Thor hammer charm and prayed fervently for whatever protection and luck the weary God could provide.

She was dreaming of fire. Warm, warm fire. The lovely heat, spreading through her body … while a horse neighed and neighed …

‘Get up!' shouted Snot. ‘The roof is on fire!'

The air was thick. Hot cinders fell in the darkness all around them. Freya's eyes stung and her mouth filled with acrid smoke. Her throat and nostrils burnt.

‘Use Woden's charm, Snot!' screamed Roskva,
coughing. ‘He gave you a fire-quenching charm! Say it! Say it!'

Snot muttered the ancient words. The fire roared louder.

Stumbling and choking, they felt their way along the bristly wall and ran outside, coughing and spluttering.

The burning glove lit up the night sky. They backed away into the forest, stumbling through the dense undergrowth, snapping rotten branches and tripping over tree roots, their sleeves and hems caught by brambly bushes.

‘It didn't work, Snot!' said Roskva. ‘You stupid idiot! The fire's burning harder than ever. You must have said it wrong. Say the rune again. Honestly! Do I have to do everything myself?'

She glared at Snot. Then her face softened.

‘Let's get away from here,' said Alfi. ‘It's not safe. Giants set that fire – they knew we were inside.'

Roskva didn't move.

‘Roskva? ROSKVA!'

Roskva was blushing and gazing at Snot. But not just gazing. She was devouring him. A silly grin spread across her face and she sidled up to him, looking at him sideways with lowered lashes.

‘Hello, handsome,' she said, flicking her hair and
giving him a little half-smile. ‘Where have you been all my life? I never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous you are. I must have been blind.'

‘What's got into you, Roskva?' said Alfi. ‘We don't have time for your silliness. The whole forest is catching fire, we need to move. The giants know we're here.'

Roskva ignored him. Snot stared at her as if she'd just been changed into a salmon.

‘What do you say we ditch these infants and find somewhere a little more … uh … private?' she giggled. ‘To think you were in Asgard all this time and I never noticed what a handsome hunk you are.'

‘Stop it, Roskva,' said Alfi. ‘We're in terrible danger.'

Snot bristled.

‘You making fun of me?'

Roskva's face crumpled. ‘Making fun of you? Snot, I love you! I love you more than my life. You are fairer than any god. You're the sun, the moon, and the stars. None beam as brightly as your eyes. And your crooked brows … and strong arms … and muscular chest … and … and … Oh Gods! Let's run away together! Now! Come on! The night is young,' she simpered, tugging frantically on his hairy arm.

‘It's not funny,' scowled Snot. ‘Go play with the trolls.'

‘It's like someone's cast a spell on her,' said Freya.
Grumpy, bossy, complaining Roskva was a hundred times better than this one.

Alfi slapped his forehead.

‘Snot, the rune the All-Father gave you. He must have told you a love-charm instead by mistake. What are we going to do?'

‘Can't you both PLEASE just go away and leave me alone with my darling love?' wailed Roskva. ‘Don't you know when you're not wanted?'

‘We're not going anywhere,' muttered Alfi, grabbing hold of Roskva's hand and pulling her along the path. Roskva allowed herself to be dragged for a moment, then suddenly stopped and shouted:

Oh Snot, Snot, Snot,
I feel hot hot hot
I love you a lot
My heart's tied in a knot
Some may think you're a blot
That your legs are too squat
But when I'm around you I'm besot-ot-ot-ted
.

‘Oh Gods, not poetry too,' said Alfi, groaning. Roskva kept trying to wind her arms around Snot's neck. Every time he peeled them off.

‘Roskva,' said Freya. ‘Please. We have a job to do …'

‘Job!' squealed Roskva, jumping on to Snot's back. ‘What job? I'm in love! I'm in love! I'm in love!'

‘How long are we going to have to bear this?' said Freya.

Snot dumped Roskva, pulled out his sword and beckoned Alfi and Freya over to him.

‘Stay there!' he ordered her.

‘Whatever you say, my honey lamb,' she cooed.

‘I say we kill her,' said Snot.

‘No!' said Alfi.

‘Don't you tell my darling “no” in that tone of voice,' said Roskva.

‘Be calm, be calm,' said Freya. ‘How long does a rune last?'

‘I don't know,' said Alfi.

‘Will it wear off?'

‘I don't know,' said Alfi. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.'

‘We can tie her up and leave her to the wolves. She's useless like this,' said Snot.

‘Can we reverse it?' said Freya.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Say the rune backwards,' said Freya.

‘What and risk whipping up a storm, or causing an earthquake?' said Alfi. ‘The All-Father's magic is
powerful beyond all things. You don't just say these words lightly and hope for the best.'

‘Got a better idea?' said Freya.

‘It will never work,' said Alfi. ‘Don't say the words. Don't. Don't. Please don't. She could burst into flames. She could end up hating us all. She could—'

‘Oh Snotty! Where are you, my dearest darling? Don't leave me!' cooed Roskva, running over to him and covering him with kisses.

Snot gritted his teeth and recited the rune.

Roskva froze. She dropped her arms to her side and stepped back, wiping her mouth and blinking.

‘Well?' she snapped. ‘Why are you all looking at me? Come on, let's get out of here. We've been sleeping in a giant's glove. That's G-I-A-N-T. The fire will attract all evil creatures. What are you waiting for?'

‘You,' said Alfi. He smiled at Freya.

‘What's so funny?' said Roskva.

‘Nothing,' said Freya.

She'd done something right. She'd actually done something right.

Freya shut her eyes as Sleipnir's hooves skidded round the edge of the sheer cliff and she glimpsed the glacier-filled ravine far below. A torrential waterfall tumbled into the valley. They were now climbing steadily up the charcoal-black mountains along a treacherous track. And all the while, hail pelted them and shrill winds whipped their cloaks. Freya's breath froze and her lashes were laced with ice. Her lungs hurt every time she breathed.

Perched at the top of a high precipice loomed
Thrymheim, Thjazi's sullen storm-home, hewn out of iron-grey rock and lashed with snow and whirling winds. It rose out of the freezing fog like a dungeon tossed above ground.

They dismounted, drenched, out of sight of the giant's lair. Freya's numb feet were soaked. Gods, she hated having wet feet. Why couldn't the Gods do their own dirty work? she thought rebelliously, slopping through the slimy snow. She staggered under the weight of Snot's sodden cloak, which hung heavy from her shoulders. She gritted her teeth. The moment she'd been dreading had arrived.

They left Sleipnir, trembling after his long climb, hidden in a dip in the rocks a short distance from the hideous hall. Freya saw his eight legs were now mottled ivory up to his great chest. She shivered, and not just from the aching cold. A few frozen sheep huddled together in a nearby stone-walled pen.

Snot led the way as they crept towards the towering lair, almost bent double in the buffeting wind. No smoke billowed from the gap at the top of the gabled roof. The gigantic front door was ajar.

‘That's a stroke of luck,' said Alfi.

‘It's not like he gets many visitors up here, is it?' said Roskva, raising her voice to be heard against the wind.

‘But he's left the door wide open,' said Freya. She'd never do that in London. ‘You don't think it's because he's … expecting us?'

‘Let's keep watch,' whispered Roskva. ‘We'll wait till he leaves, then sneak in.'

‘And if he catches us?' said Freya. Her heart thudded.

‘We can pretend to be servants looking for work,' said Roskva.

‘Look!' hissed Alfi, pointing down.

There below the precipice, Freya glimpsed the back of a giant so huge his shoulders touched the mountains on either side of the valley as he strode away.

Freya exhaled. ‘Oh my Gods,' she breathed. Even Snot paled.

‘Still fancy single combat?' said Roskva.

Snot glowered and bit his battle-worn shield. ‘I've never run from a fight and I won't now,' he said.

‘Let's go,' said Roskva. ‘Fate's given us our chance to find Idunn.'

Please Gods, prayed Freya. Please Gods let her still be here.

They crept through the door. Blustery winds gusted through the bleak, cavernous hall. Everyone shivered. Freya's teeth chattered, and her fingers were raw and icy. Had she ever been so cold before?

The wind howled, slamming doors, blowing and banging. Embers from a small fire glowed in the immense hearth by the hall's entrance, flanked by the tallest benches Freya had ever seen. The air reeked of damp decay.

They wandered in silence the length of the cold, dark, dank, filthy room, hewn from the bluish rock.

There were gigantic carved gold chairs covered in filthy blankets. Globs of greasy hair and fur clumped in corners. Moth-eaten tapestries, black with smoke, flapped in the wind. Fish guts congealed where they'd slopped on to the damp stone floor. There were cracked drinking horns, vats of ale, and barrels of stinking dried herring, along with piles of wolf pelts and bear skins. Giant nets dangled from the walls, alongside fishing poles and rusty spears. Heaps of candle wax piled up below the iron-spiked wall sconces. Bones, half-eaten, were scattered on top of bloody knives and filthy gold platters crawling with mould.

Freya felt like a little mouse scuttling about as she tried to avoid the slippery fish guts. There was junk everywhere, except the junk was all gold and silver. Thrymheim reminded her of a picture she'd once seen in
Hello!
magazine of a Russian oligarch and his spiky-taloned
wife enthroned in a gilded gold room. The whole place stank of fish.

And something much worse. Much, much worse. They passed reeking barrels of brown water, filled with huge floating … Freya recoiled, hoping it wasn't what she thought it was. The stench was unbelievable. Freya picked her way past the slops, holding her nose and retching.

There were enormous buckets crammed with fish heads up to her shoulders. One was knocked over, spilling its smelly contents on to the ground. Snot grabbed a fish head and munched. The eyeballs popped out and rolled on the floor. He swooped down and scooped them into his mouth.

‘What?' he said, as Freya stared at him.

‘Nothing,' she said.

They pushed open the heavy doors to the side rooms. They found two bed chambers, and a toilet so disgusting that Freya almost fainted.

‘Guess he got tired of using this stinkhole,' said Roskva, holding her nose, ‘so he's turned the whole place into a cesspit.'

‘If he comes back let's not say we're servants looking for work,' muttered Alfi.

There was only one room left. The door was smaller
than the others, and there was a key in the lock.

Snot hoisted Roskva up on to his shoulders. Reaching as high as she could, Roskva turned the key.

The door opened. They all gasped as their eyes adjusted to the gloom.

‘What a gold-hoard,' breathed Alfi.