The Sleeping Army (9 page)

Alfi flinched. ‘That sounds worse than someone edging a scythe on a stone,' he said.

‘You don't like it, block your ears,' grunted Snot.

‘One thing I don't understand,' said Freya. ‘Why would Loki give Idunn to a giant?'

‘Why. Why. Why. Gods, do you ever stop asking questions?' muttered Snot. He rolled his eyes.

‘Loki attacked an eagle who turned out to be the giant Thjazi in disguise,' said Roskva. ‘Thjazi grabbed
Loki and smashed him into boulders and thorns until Loki swore he would bring Idunn to him.'

‘Why did Loki keep his promise?' said Freya.

‘You must understand something,' said Alfi. ‘Loki's father was a giant. So. Is he loyal to the Gods? Or to the giants?'

‘The Gods do what they like,' said Roskva. ‘We mortals live with the consequences.' She and Alfi looked at one another in silence.

‘The Valkyries snatched me from battle,' said Snot. ‘I was fighting.
I
was winning. But Woden sent the Choosers of the Slain to take
me
and not the filthy son of a mare I was walloping.' He shrugged. ‘If a man knew his fate he'd go mad.'

‘Your fish is burning,' said Roskva.

Wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell, Freya withdrew the blackened chunk. Tentatively she took a tiny bite. The flesh was burnt on the outside, and raw on the inside. She forced herself to eat a bit more, her stomach heaving.

Freya felt them before she heard it. A thin, deep-pitched, hungry howl. And then another. And another.

Her skin prickled. She whimpered and edged closer to the fire. The other three grabbed flaming sticks and stood with their backs to the heat, facing outward.
Freya caught a glimpse of glowing amber-red eyes. She had no idea what to do. Roskva pulled out her knife.

Snot ran bellowing into the trees, brandishing the burning wood and wielding his sword. Alfi hesitated and drew his sword, uncertain whether to follow or stay.

‘Oh, give me that,' screamed Roskva, snatching his blade and edging towards the forest.

‘Oy! I was just about to—' spluttered Alfi, grabbing it back, when Snot reappeared from the darkness.

‘The wolves have gone,' said Snot. The firelight glistened on his bloody sword. ‘But not for long. We'll keep watch tonight. Now that they've smelt us, they won't leave us.'

They huddled close together by the fire, the night around them thick and black as the clouds hid the half-moon. Freya bit her lip hard to stop herself bursting into tears.

‘Anyone know any poetry?' said Alfi. His voice trembled. ‘What about Egil Skallagrimsson?'

‘Who?' said Freya. Her voice was also shaky.

‘You've never heard of him?' said Alfi.

‘Nope,' said Freya.

‘Unbelievable,' said Alfi. ‘What about Eyvind the Plagiarist?'

Freya shook her head. ‘I know a bit of Shakespeare
… we studied
Hamlet
in school.' Her voice quavering, she recited:

To be or not to be; that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
—

‘Who?' interrupted Roskva. ‘He's terrible.'

‘What about Audun the Uninspired?' said Snot. ‘I always liked Audun.'

‘Let's hear it,' said Alfi.

Snot stood, sword drawn, left hand on his hip, and recited, his gravelly voice low:

Oh battle bright warrior
How the gold of your brooch-goddess gleams
Too soon raven's food litters the blood-soaked ground
Wolf's teeth stained with blood
.

Alfi clapped. His sword, Freya noticed, was clutched tight in his hand.

‘Do you know anything more cheerful?' said Freya. The thought of bloody wolf's teeth was a little close to home at the moment.

‘Cheerful!' Snot spat. He thought for a moment. ‘There's always that funny poem of Eyvind's …

My sword, flame of battle
Digs deep in enemy ribs.
Wound-sea pours red from the trailing guts
My shield-splitting arm
Hacks him to pieces
Ready for the eagle's snack
.

Snot laughed. It sounded more like a rasp than a laugh.

‘It's good, no? I especially like the phrase “eagle's snack”.' He hesitated for a moment. ‘I write a bit of poetry myself.'

‘Go on,' said Roskva.

‘I'm no Eyvind …'

And then Snot stood up again, threw back his grizzled head, and recited:

Eagle food
Raven food
Warriors all end up as bloody food.
When you're a wolf meal
No point in gold then
A dead man gathers no wealth inside the wolf's belly
.

‘True,' said Alfi.

AAAAAARRRRGGGHHHH! thought Freya.
Did every poem have to be about being eaten by eagles and wolves?

Snot glowered. ‘You don't need to pretend. I didn't say I was a good poet, I said I wrote a bit of poetry. But a king did give me the gift of my own head once for that verse.'

Alfi looked puzzled.

‘He pardoned him,' said Roskva.

Snot smiled faintly. ‘I think I must have been happy then.'

They were silent. Freya watched the flames and listened to the howling river. Her shoulders tensed. Any moment a giant could burst out of the darkness and trample them to death. Or a wolf could tear them to pieces. She could feel her heart banging against her chest, its quick-quick beats reverberating inside her. How could the others be so calm when they could be killed at any moment?

‘Roskva, what charms did the All-Father give you?' asked Alfi, poking the fire.

‘Calming waves,' said Roskva.

‘I can tell men the names of all the Gods and all the elves one by one,' said Alfi.

‘That'll be a help against Thjazi,' said Roskva. ‘Maybe he'll challenge you to a naming contest and whoever wins gets Idunn.'

Alfi brightened.

‘Do you think so?' he said.

‘NO!' said Roskva. ‘Only stupid dwarfs fall for that one.'

‘You never know what's going to help,' said Alfi. ‘What about you, Snot?'

Snot spat.

‘I can quench any fire,' said Snot. ‘He could have taught me how to blunt an enemy's sword, or how to strengthen a band of comrades so they walk unscathed from battle. But no. I'm a bloody fire-fighter.' He spat again.

‘If I see a hanged man in a tree I can make him come down and talk to me,' said Freya. She shivered. ‘Oh wait. I didn't get anything. The All-Father forgot the last part of the rune.'

‘You got the falcon skin,' said Roskva.

‘So I did,' said Freya. Her fingers felt in her pocket for the feather. Her eyes felt heavy.

Alfi was also struggling to keep awake.

‘We should sleep,' said Snot. ‘I'll take first watch.'

Alfi wrapped himself in his cloak and stretched out by the crackling fire. ‘Oh, my aching legs,' he murmured, pulling off his hairy leather ankle boots and rubbing his pale feet.

There was a strangled cry.

‘Roskva!' he said. ‘Look.'

Freya stared. There was some sort of creamy chalk on both Alfi's feet up to his ankles. He tried to rub it off, but the mottled colour remained.

Roskva took off her boots.

‘It's happening to me too,' said Roskva quietly.

Her heart pounding, Freya pulled off her own shoes and socks. There was the same mottled ivory-brown colour creeping up her feet to her ankles. She touched her toes. They felt exactly the same, but they tingled, and her skin had changed colour.

‘What's happening to us?' whispered Freya.

‘I think … I think we're slowly turning back into ivory,' said Roskva. ‘Bit by bit. If we haven't restored Idunn to the Gods by the ninth night—'

She didn't need to complete the sentence.

‘We don't know that,' said Freya. ‘It might be something else. It might be gone by morning.'

‘It might,' said Roskva. She fixed Freya with a dark look. ‘And Sleipnir might talk.'

Roskva spread her heavy cloak on the ground, sat down on one side and beckoned to Freya. ‘Here. We can share.'

Freya hesitated. The night wasn't cold, but she had nothing to put on the ground.

‘Thanks,' she said.

Alfi already lay snoring beside them. His pale bare feet stuck out from the end of the cloak he'd wrapped himself in. Snot sat brooding over the fire, poking at the embers and singing tunelessly: ‘Thor's lost his hammer/ Oh look it's in your head.'

Freya gazed at the glittering stars studding the blue-black sky. They didn't look like any stars she'd ever seen before, grouped in unfamiliar patterns. Her parents would never know what had happened to her. Bob would do his rounds, maybe peer into the case housing the Lewis Chessmen, never realising that … that …

I won't think about it, she decided. I'll just try to get through tonight and hope I survive tomorrow.

Freya huddled down on the dusty fur and tried to get comfortable. It was impossible. She needed to sleep in a bed. She could feel stones dig into her back.

Freya tossed and twisted. Tears stung her eyes. She'd never get to sleep.

‘Wake up! The quick catch the prize!'

Freya startled awake and opened her eyes. For a moment she didn't know where she was. Then she saw Snot's ugly face and sniffed his horrible smell and it all came back to her. She jolted up and inspected her tingling legs, just visible in the pre-dawn light.

The bleached ivory colour now snaked past her ankles up to her calves.

It was as if her feet were
already corpses. Freya trembled.

Roskva and Alfi were already up and Sleipnir, steaming and glistening, saddled. His eight legs were mottled-ivory to the knees. The early dawn sky was tinged pinky-orange on the edges of the horizon. Restless ravens circled overhead crying
kraa kraa kraa
and wisps of mist rose from the chilly ground. The damp air smelled faintly of pine.

‘We want to cross into Jotunheim as quietly as possible,' said Roskva. ‘If we get over the River Irving now, we can hopefully reach the forest without being seen.'

Alfi crammed a few acorns and berries into his mouth. Roskva gnawed on some wild leeks. Snot ate some dried fish that looked like stiff dirt.

Roskva opened Sleipnir's saddlebag and rooted around inside.

‘Eat,' said Roskva, passing her a crumbling prehistoric oat cake.

Freya was about to say she wasn't a breakfast person but decided not to. The oat cake tasted like dusty cardboard. Freya slipped the remains into her pocket. Her fingers touched a bar of chocolate. She gazed at the smooth red wrapper. No. She'd keep it for later. She felt something smooth and round, and her face flushed. It was the silvery pot of pink lip gloss she'd bought with her pocket money.
Clare forbade her to wear make-up so Freya always kept it hidden. She also found her squeaky duck keyring which emitted a tiny light when she pressed the beak, the ugly tortoiseshell hair clip Clare liked her to wear, and her black mobile phone. She put the clip into her hair, then pulled out the mobile.

Dead. What had she expected?

‘What's that?' said Alfi.

‘My phone,' said Freya. ‘It doesn't work here.'

‘Ah,' he said. ‘I always wondered … in the place of dead things people were always talking into them, like madmen mumbling to themselves.'

Freya heard wings flapping. Instinctively, she ducked. Then she saw what had drawn the carrion birds: the ravens were tearing at the bodies of two slaughtered wolves. Freya averted her eyes. That could have been me, she thought.

They slipped down to the water's edge and mounted Sleipnir. Freya looked out across the silvery river to pebbly banks, wreathed with scrub, sloping uphill to the thick, clustered trees which she could just make out in the pale light.

She felt Sleipnir brace himself, then Woden's horse vaulted over the bright river separating Asgard and Jotunheim. He failed to clear it entirely and they
landed with a gigantic splash before scrambling up the rocky wasteland which lay between the river and the bleak forest looming ahead.