by Rick Riordan
‘He fell in love at first sight … with a frost giantess.’
‘Oh, she was beautiful,’ Freya said. ‘Silver to Frey’s gold, cold to his warmth, winter to his summer. You’ve heard that opposites attract? She was his perfect match. But she was a giant. She would never agree to marry a Vanir. Her family would not allow it. Knowing this, Frey fell into despair. Crops stopped growing. Summer lost its warmth. Finally, Frey’s servant and best friend came to ask him what was wrong.’
‘Skirnir,’ I said. ‘The dude who got the sword.’
Freya frowned. ‘Yes. Him.’
Blitzen took a step back, like he was afraid his mom might explode. For the first time, I realized how scary the goddess could look – beautiful, yes, but also terrifying and powerful. I imagined her armed with a shield and spear, riding with the Valkyries. If I saw her on the battlefield, I would run in the other direction.
‘Skirnir promised he could deliver Gerd within nine days,’ said the goddess. ‘All he required was a small fee for his services – the Sword of Summer. Frey was so love-stricken that he asked no questions. The sword … I can only imagine how it felt when it was betrayed by its master. It allowed Skirnir to wield it, though not happily.’
Freya sighed. ‘That is why the sword will never allow Frey to use it again. And that is why, at Ragnarok, Frey is fated to die because he does not have his weapon.’
I wasn’t sure what to say. Bummer didn’t seem to cover it. I remembered Loki’s warning about sitting on Odin’s throne, looking for my heart’s desire. What would I look for? My mother’s whereabouts. Would I give up a sword to find her? Of course. Would I risk getting killed or even hastening Doomsday? Yes. So maybe I couldn’t judge my father.
Blitz gripped my arm. ‘Don’t look so glum, kid. I have faith in you.’
Freya’s expression softened. ‘Yes, Magnus. You will learn to use the sword – and I don’t mean just swinging it like a brute. Once you discover its full abilities, you will be formidable indeed.’
‘I don’t suppose it comes with a user’s manual?’
Freya laughed gently. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get you in Folkvanger, Magnus. You would’ve been a good addition to my followers. But Valhalla called you first. It was meant to be.’
I wanted to argue that the Norns, the einherjar and the captain of the Valkyries didn’t seem to think so.
Thinking about Gunilla made me remember our flight into the World Tree, and Sam and Hearthstone hiding under a veil from a murderous squirrel. ‘Our friends … we got separated from them on Yggdrasil. Freya, do you know if they made it here safely?’
Freya peered into the distance. ‘They are not in Folkvanger. I see them … Yes. Wait. Lost them again. Ah!’ She winced. ‘That was a close call, but they’re fine for the moment. A resourceful pair. I sense they will not come here. You must continue on and meet them in Nidavellir. Which brings us to your quest.’
‘And how we can help you,’ Blitz said.
‘Exactly, darling. Your need brought you here. Need speaks strongly when you travel the World Tree. After all, that’s how my poor son found himself being a bondservant to Mimir.’
‘We’re not having this discussion again,’ Blitz said.
Freya turned over her lovely hands. ‘Fine. Moving along. As you well know, the dwarves created the rope Gleipnir, which bound Fenris Wolf …’
‘Yes, Mom,’ Blitz said, rolling his eyes. ‘Everyone learns that nursery rhyme in kindergarten.’
I squinted at him. ‘Nursery rhyme?’
‘Gleipnir, Gleipnir, strong and stout, wrapped the Wolf around the snout. Humans don’t learn that one?’
‘Um … I don’t think so.’
‘At any rate,’ said the goddess, ‘the dwarves will be able to tell you more about how the rope was made and how it might be replaced.’
‘Replaced?’ I willed the sword back into pendant form. Even so, hanging around my neck, it seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. ‘I thought the idea was to keep the rope from getting cut in the first place.’
‘Ah …’ Freya tapped her lips. ‘Magnus, I don’t want to discourage you, but I’d say there is a good chance, perhaps a seventy-five per cent chance, that even if you keep the sword from Surt the fire giant will still find a way to free Fenris Wolf. In such a case, you must be prepared with a replacement rope.’
My tongue felt almost as heavy as my sword pendant. ‘Yeah, that’s not at all discouraging. The last time the Wolf was free, didn’t it take all the gods working together to bind him?’
Freya nodded. ‘It took three tries and much trickery. Poor Tyr lost his hand. But don’t worry. The Wolf will never fall for the hand-in-the-mouth trick again. If it comes to that, you will have to find another way to bind him.’
I bet Miles out in the People’s Battlefield didn’t have these sorts of problems. I wondered if he’d be interested in trading places for a while, going after Fenris Wolf while I played volleyball. ‘Freya, can you at least tell us where the Wolf is?’
‘On Lyngvi – the Isle of Heather.’ The goddess tapped her chin. ‘Let’s see, today is Thor’s Day the sixteenth.’
‘You mean Thursday?’
‘That’s what I said. The island will rise on the full moon six days from now, on the twenty-second, which is Woden’s Day.’
‘Wednesday?’ I asked.
‘That’s what I said. So you should have plenty of time to get my earrings before you seek out the Wolf. Unfortunately, the island’s location shifts every year as the branches of Yggdrasil sway in the winds of the void. The dwarves should be able to help you locate it. Blitzen’s father knew the way. Others might as well.’
At the mention of his father, Blitz’s face clouded over. Very carefully, he took the carnation from his waistcoat and tossed it into the hearth fire. ‘And what do you want, Mother? What’s your part in this?’
‘Oh, my needs are simple.’ Her fingers fluttered over her golden lace collar. ‘I want you to commission some earrings to match my necklace Brisingamen. Something nice. Not too flashy, but noticeable. Blitzen, you have excellent taste. I trust you.’
Blitzen glared at the nearest pile of riches, which contained dozens, maybe hundreds of earrings. ‘You know who I have to talk to in Nidavellir. Only one dwarf has the skill to replace the rope Gleipnir.’
‘Yes,’ Freya agreed. ‘Fortunately, he’s also an excellent jeweller, so he will be able to accommodate both our requests.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Blitzen, ‘this particular dwarf wants me dead.’
Freya waved aside his objection. ‘Oh, he can’t possibly. Not after all this time.’
‘Dwarves have very long memories, Mother.’
‘Well, generous payment will soften his attitude. I can help with that.’ She called across the hall, ‘Dmitri? I need you!’
From one of the sofa clusters, three guys scrambled to their feet, grabbed their musical instruments and hustled over. They wore matching Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts and sandals. Their hair was greased back in pompadours. The first guy had a guitar. The second had bongos. The third had a triangle.
The guy with the guitar bowed to Freya. ‘At your service, my lady!’
Freya gave me a conspiratorial smile, as if she had some wonderful secret to share. ‘Magnus, meet Dmitri and the Do-Runs, the best band you’ve never heard of. They died in 1963, just as they were about to get their big break. So sad! They valiantly swerved their car off Route One to spare a busload of schoolchildren from a terrible collision. In honour of their selfless deaths, I brought them here to Folkvanger.’
‘And we’re very grateful, my lady,’ said Dmitri. ‘Being your house band has been a sweet gig!’
‘Dmitri, I need to cry,’ she said. ‘Could you please play the one about my lost husband? I love that song.’
‘I hate that song,’ Blitzen mumbled under his breath.
The trio hummed. Dmitri strummed a chord.
I whispered to Blitzen, ‘Why does your mom need
to cry?’
He turned towards me and made a finger-down-the-throat gesture. ‘Just watch. You’ll see.’
Dmitri began to sing:
‘Oh, Odur! Od, Od, Odur,
Where is that Odur; where is my love?’
The other two musicians harmonized on the chorus:
‘Od wanders far, my Odur is missing,
How odd it is, not to be kissing
My Odur! My sweet Od, Odur!’
Triangle.
Bongo solo.
Blitzen whispered, ‘Her godly husband was an Aesir named Odur, Od for short.’
I wasn’t sure which name was worse.
‘He disappeared?’ I guessed.
‘Two thousand years ago,’ Blitzen said. ‘Freya went looking for him, disappeared herself for almost a century while she searched. She never found him, but that’s why Frey sat in Odin’s chair in the first place – to look for his sister.’
The goddess leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands. She drew a shaky breath. When she looked up again, she was weeping – but her tears were small pellets of red gold. She wept until her hands were full of glittering droplets.
‘Oh, Odur!’ she sobbed. ‘Why did you leave me? I miss you still!’
She sniffled and nodded to the musicians. ‘Thank you, Dmitri. That’s enough.’
Dmitri and his friends bowed. Then the best band I wished I’d never heard of shuffled away.
Freya raised her cupped hands. Out of nowhere, a leather pouch appeared, hovering above her lap. Freya spilled her tears into the bag.
‘Here, my son.’ Freya passed the pouch to Blitzen. ‘That should be enough payment if Eitri Junior is at all reasonable.’
Blitzen stared glumly at the pouch of tears. ‘The only problem is, he’s not.’
‘You will succeed!’ Freya said. ‘The fate of my earrings is in your hands!’
I scratched the back of my neck. ‘Uh, Lady Freya … thanks for the tears and all, but couldn’t you just go to Nidavellir and pick out your own earrings? I mean, isn’t shopping half the fun?’
Blitzen shot me a warning look.
Freya’s blue eyes turned a few degrees colder. Her fingertips traced the filigree of her necklace. ‘No, Magnus, I can’t just go shopping in Nidavellir. You know what happened when I bought Brisingamen from the dwarves. Do you want that to happen again?’
Actually, I had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Every time I go to Nidavellir, I get myself in trouble,’ she said. ‘It’s not my fault! The dwarves know my weakness for beautiful jewellery. Believe me, it’s much better that I send you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for our evening luau with optional combat. Goodbye, Magnus. Goodbye, my darling Blitzen!’
The floor opened beneath us, and we fell into darkness.
FORTY
My Friend Evolved from a – Nope. I Can’t Say It
I don’t remember landing.
I found myself on a dark street on a cold, cloudy night. Three-storey terraced clapboard houses edged the sidewalk. At the end of the block, a tavern’s grimy windows glowed with neon drink signs.
‘This is Southie,’ I said. ‘Around D Street.’
Blitzen shook his head. ‘This is Nidavellir, kid. It looks like South Boston … or rather, South Boston looks like it. I told you, Boston is the nexus. The Nine Worlds blend together there and affect one another. Southie has a definite dwarvish feeling to it.’
‘I thought Nidavellir would be underground. With claustrophobic tunnels and –’
‘Kid, that’s a cavern ceiling above your head. It’s just a long way up and hidden by air pollution. We don’t have daytime here. It’s this dark all the time.’
I stared into the murky clouds. After being in Freya’s realm, the world of the dwarves seemed oppressive, but it also seemed more familiar, more … genuine. I guess no true Bostonian would trust a place that was sunny and pleasant all the time. But a gritty, perpetually cold and gloomy neighbourhood? Throw in a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts locations, and I’m right at home.
Blitz wrapped his pith helmet in its dark netting. The whole thing collapsed into a small black handkerchief, which he tucked into his coat pocket. ‘We should get going.’
‘We’re not going to talk about what happened up there in Volkswagen?’
‘What’s there to say?’
‘For one thing, we’re cousins.’
Blitz shrugged. ‘I’m happy to be your cousin, kid, but children of the gods don’t put much stock in that sort of connection. Godly family lines are so tangled – thinking about it will drive you crazy. Everybody’s related to everybody.’
‘But you’re a demigod,’ I said. ‘That’s a good thing, right?’
‘I hate the word demigod. I prefer born with a target on my back.’
‘Come on, Blitz. Freya is your mom. That’s important information you kinda forgot to mention.’
‘Freya is my mother,’ he agreed. ‘A lot of svartalfs are descended from Freya. Down here, it’s not such a big deal. She mentioned how she got Brisingamen? A few millennia ago she was strolling through Nidavellir – who knows why – and she came across these four dwarves who were crafting the necklace. She was obsessed. She had to have it. The dwarves said sure, for the right price. Freya had to marry each of them, one after the other, for one day each.’
‘She …’ I wanted to say, Gross, she married four dwarves? Then I remembered who was telling the story. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’ Blitz sounded miserable. ‘She had four dwarvish children, one for each marriage.’
I frowned. ‘Wait. If she was married for one day to each dwarf and a pregnancy lasts … the maths doesn’t work out on that.’
‘Don’t ask me. Goddesses live by their own rules. Anyway, she got the necklace. She was ashamed of herself for marrying dwarves. Tried to keep it a secret. But the thing is, she loved dwarven jewellery. She kept coming back to Nidavellir to pick out new pieces, and every time …’
‘Wow.’
Blitzen’s shoulders slumped. ‘That’s the main difference between dark elves and regular dwarves. The svartalfs are taller and generally more handsome because we have Vanir blood. We’re descended from Freya. You say I’m a demigod. I say I’m a receipt. My dad crafted a pair of earrings for Freya. She married him for a day. She couldn’t resist his craftsmanship. He couldn’t resist her beauty. Now she sends me to purchase a new pair of earrings because she’s tired of the old ones and Asgard forbid she find herself saddled with another little Blitzen.’
The bitterness in his voice could’ve melted iron plating. I wanted to tell him I understood how he felt, but I wasn’t sure I did. Even if I never knew my dad, I’d had my mom. That had always been enough for me. For Blitzen … not so much. I wasn’t sure what had happened to his father, but I remembered what he’d told me at the Esplanade lagoon: You’re not the only one who’s lost family to the wolves, kid.
‘Come on,’ he told me. ‘If we stand in the street any longer, we’ll get mugged for this bag of tears. Dwarves can smell red gold a mile away.’ He pointed to the bar on the corner. ‘I’ll buy you a drink at Nabbi’s Tavern.’
Nabbi’s restored my faith in dwarves, because it was in fact a claustrophobic tunnel. The ceiling was a low-clearance hazard. The walls were papered with old fight posters like DONNER THE DESTROYER VS. MINI-MURDERER, ONE NIGHT ONLY! featuring pictures of muscular, snarling dwarves in wrestling masks.
Mismatched tables and chairs were occupied by a dozen mismatched dwarves – some svartalfs like Blitzen who could easily have passed for human, some much shorter guys who could have easily passed for garden gnomes. A few of the patrons glanced at us, but nobody seemed shocked that I was a human … if they even realized. The idea that I could pass for a dwarf was pretty disturbing.
The most unreal thing about the bar was Taylor Swift’s ‘Blank Space’ blasting from the speakers.
‘Dwarves like human music?’ I
asked Blitzen.
‘You mean humans like our music.’
‘But …’ I had a sudden image of Taylor Swift’s mom and Freya having a girls’ night out in Nidavellir. ‘Never mind.’
As we made our way towards the bar, I realized that the furniture wasn’t just mismatched. Every single table and chair was unique – apparently handcrafted from various metals, with different designs and upholstery. One table was shaped like a bronze wagon wheel with a glass top. Another had a tin and brass chessboard hammered into the surface. Some chairs had wheels. Others had adjustable booster seats. Some had massage controls or propellers on the back.
Over by the left wall, three dwarves were playing darts. The board’s rings rotated and blew steam. One dwarf tossed his dart, which buzzed towards the target like a tiny drone. While it was still in flight, another dwarf took a shot. His dart rocketed towards the drone dart and exploded, knocking it out of the air.
The first dwarf just grunted. ‘Nice shot.’
Finally we reached the polished oak bar, where Nabbi himself was waiting. I could tell who he was because of my highly trained deductive mind, and also because his stained yellow apron read: HI! I’M NABBI.
I thought he was the tallest dwarf I’d met so far until I realized he was standing on a catwalk behind the counter. Nabbi was actually only two feet tall, including the shock of black hair that stuck up from his scalp like a sea urchin. His clean-shaven face made me appreciate why dwarves wear beards. Without one, Nabbi was gods-awful ugly. He had no chin to speak of. His mouth puckered sourly.
He scowled at us like we’d tracked in mud.
‘Greetings, Blitzen, son of Freya,’ he said. ‘No explosions in my bar this time, I hope?’
Blitzen bowed. ‘Greetings, Nabbi, son of Loretta. To be fair, I wasn’t the one who brought the grenades. Also, this is my friend Magnus, son of –’
‘Um. Son of Natalie.’
Nabbi nodded to me. His busy eyebrows were fascinating. They seemed to move like live caterpillars.
I reached for a bar stool, but Blitzen stopped me.
‘Nabbi,’ he said formally, ‘may my friend use this stool? What is its name and history?’