Geirrod frowned and seemed to consider her words for a moment. “All the goddesses and consorts of the Æsir possess healing powers. Perhaps you simply require more time for the apples to work their restoration. Then you will revive our sleeping leader.”
Maggie rested a hand on her hip. “Your leader?”
She still wasn’t up to speed on the many intrigues and truces between Odin and Loki. She’d known Heimdall’s family only a short while. Loki struck her more than anything as an eccentric but well-meaning uncle, though she knew Thor was of a decidedly different opinion. If Loki was involved with these giants—and was their leader, even—maybe she really wasn’t in any danger.
But then, where was Heimdall? Why wouldn’t Geirrod take her to him?
Gesturing for her to follow, Geirrod strode toward one of the half-dozen dark corridors leading away from the small dining room. Maggie guessed it was the same passageway they’d taken to get here, but she couldn’t be certain.
“Our conflict is as ancient as time itself, older even than the petty tensions between the Æsir and the Vanir,” Geirrod told her over his shoulder.
Maggie jogged across the stone floor to catch up to the giant. Æsir and Vanir—finally, terms she was familiar with. Heimdall had described the ongoing, victor-less battles between the Vanir nature gods and the Æsir divinities of Asgard, and how the hostilities ceased only when the two clans made a permanent exchange of hostages.
And so the twins Freyr and Freya had come into Odin’s clan. Maggie understood that old tensions flared up from time to time, and until recently it hadn’t been uncommon for Thor and Freyr to come to blows.
“Right,” Maggie panted, trying to keep up with Geirrod’s generous stride. “But then they made peace, and now—”
Geirrod stopped and turned on his heel, and Maggie nearly smacked face-first into his chest. He gazed down at her with an intense frown.
“Peace between the Vanir and the Æsir?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. Was this some family secret she’d just spilled? She struggled to think of something—anything—she could say to cover her tracks, but she had a sinking feeling she’d said too much already.
“Umm, maybe?” she stammered, feeling her face flush red.
The giant’s dark frown lightened a bit. “An uneasy alliance, perhaps. But never a true peace.” He gazed up at the stone ceiling, only a few inches above his shaggy mane. “It is true we were locked away for many generations. Much has changed since the Frost Giants last roamed these lands.”
Frost Giants, Maggie made a mental note. That was a new one.
“The rise of men, for instance.” Geirrod continued. He shook his head and nearly laughed. “I suppose all creatures must have their time in the sun, to revel in their strengths and abilities. So why not men?” The giant hissed through his teeth. “Not for too much longer, though, I think.”
He bowed his head politely to Maggie, then continued down the passageway. Maggie hustled along behind him.
“You will see, Lady Maggie, how the world once was. Before the defeat of the Frost Giants. Before the rise of these primitive human creatures,” he spat.
Primitive human creatures, Maggie made another mental note. If these tall fellows held her kind in such pitiful disdain, maybe playing along as a goddess wasn’t such a bad idea?
“Before this so-called peace between the Æsir and Vanir.” A low chuckle caught in Geirrod’s throat, and Maggie saw his back shake with mirth. “That would be something to see. No matter. Loki is the only one of the Old Ones who genuinely understood us. He was never truly Æsir or Vanir, with his powers of darkness and chaos, and choosing from among the Wolfen for his mate . . .”
Loki, Wolfen . . . Fenrir. Maggie kept quiet, but the more she heard the less she understood. So Managarm recruited Fenrir and expected Loki to fall in as an ally against Odin, and now these tall guys come out of nowhere, kidnap me—in freaking Norway—and call Loki their leader?
Loki, someone she’d always found to offer a sympathetic ear and a quiet laugh, was sounding more and more like one complicated dude.
“. . . and so we combined forces with Loki, who led us into battle against the gods.”
Maggie was completely confused. She breathed heavily as she jogged along behind Geirrod. They were climbing now, even though each dank and close corridor looked and felt exactly like the last. She hoped the giant was leading her back to Loki and not to some new surprise.
Geirrod turned suddenly toward her, and Maggie dipped her face into the shadows to hide her expression. She’d never been any good at poker, and she was certain her bewilderment was written across her face.
“But, of course, you would know all of this. I am just re-telling old tales.”
“That’s all right,” Maggie tried to sound cheerful. “I like old stories, actually. So feel free to tell as many of them as you want.”
A proud smile broke across Geirrod’s face, and he led Maggie into another corridor that sloped even more steeply upward. “I know many such tales, Lady Maggie. Perhaps some evening, when you are resting from your healing work, I may humbly regale you with heroic tellings from the proud history of my people?”
“Sure,” Maggie panted behind him. “That’d be awesome.”
The corridor opened into a small atrium, and a short passageway from there led directly to Loki’s chamber. Emerging from the dim corridor, Maggie blinked against the bright sunlight streaming into the room. She silently cursed herself for not paying better attention to the layout of the stone compound. How many steps from the dining room below to this chamber? Had they passed any suspiciously closed doorways on the way up?
Trying to catch her breath, Maggie stepped ahead of Geirrod. “Thank you for your assistance.” She wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette for dismissing a Frost Giant, but he seemed to take the hint.
“It has been a pleasure and my true honor.” Geirrod bowed deeply before her. “Perhaps with the support of your kinswoman, you will soon have Loki revived.”
“My kinswoman?”
Geirrod nodded to the far corner of the room, then turned and left the chamber.
Maggie spun around and held up a hand to shield her eyes against the sunlight. At first, she saw only Loki, still supine and unmoving on the pedestal in the center of the room. Then beyond the bed another figure took shape, seeming to form out of the sunlight itself, and moved toward her.
Maggie’s eyes widened as the woman’s features came into focus. She was tall with a broad brow and strong nose. Her generous curves and white-gold curls undulated with every step. She was what fashion magazines might call “sturdy” or “handsome,” but Maggie’s jaw dropped at her beauty.
“Iduna. Goddess of the Grove,” the woman said, her stern expression unwavering. “And just who are you, Lady Maggie?”
“I, uhh . . .” Maggie glanced anxiously about the empty room. A table and chair had been added for her comfort and convenience, but given Iduna’s tone of voice, Maggie doubted that inviting her to sit down to tea would help smooth things over. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
The goddess arched one golden eyebrow. “Has there, now?”
Maggie glanced over her shoulder to make sure Geirrod had indeed taken his leave, then leaned closer to Iduna and whispered. “They think I’m a goddess. Like you.”
Iduna laughed without mirth. “And I suppose you’ve done everything in your power to disabuse them of such a ridiculous notion?”
Maggie felt hot tears spring to her eyes. “Listen!” she hissed. “I don’t know where I am, or what these guys mean to do with me. But I get the feeling that if they find out who I really am—”
“A human mortal, with no claim to divinity?”
“Yeah, that,” Maggie huffed. “I don’t think that’d go too well for me, you know?”
Iduna lifted her chin and looked Maggie up and down. “You’re Heimdall’s, yes?”
Heimdall’s? Maggie hadn’t thought of herself as belong
ing to her boyfriend—this was the twenty-first century, after all—but when in Norway, she figured it was best to do as the Norse immortals do.
“Yeah.”
The goddess arched her eyebrow again. “Not a completely worthless specimen . . .”
Maggie felt her spine tighten. Dealing with the Frost Giants was bad enough, but this woman was fast getting on Maggie’s nerves. Still, if Iduna was kin to Heimdall, and to Odin and the rest, maybe she could help Maggie get out of here? Maggie took a step forward, trying to think of the best way to phrase her plea for help, when the haughty goddess’s shoulders suddenly slumped.
“Ah, who am I kidding?” Iduna sighed with a dismissive wave. “I’m just as much a prisoner here as you are, young one.” She crossed her arms over her chest, barely wrinkling the folds of her long, fitted gown. “Let me guess, they stole you right out from under Heimdall’s nose?”
Maggie nodded. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious before she awoke inside this stone fortress. Had she been taken days ago? Weeks? Sunlight was always coming through the windows. The light dimmed on occasion, but it was never night.
Unfortunately, the high windows afforded no opportunity to glance outside and try to figure out precisely where she was. And even if Maggie had been able to see out, there was little chance she’d be able to recognize the surroundings.
“Is that the Frost Giants’ regular M.O.?” Maggie asked. “Is that how you got here?”
“Not quite.” Iduna turned toward the table and chair that had been placed not far from Loki’s pedestal. The silken fabric of her gown glinted as she moved.
“So, where are we?” Maggie followed Iduna across the floor. “I mean, I’m guessing above or close to the Arctic Circle, except that it seems really warm—at least here inside.”
She’d spotted only a few hearths around the fortress, but she’d noticed small ducts in the floors of the rooms and sitting low on the walls in the corridors providing a steady stream of warm air. Somewhere, there must be a furnace room.
Iduna waved a hand in the air again, and sat down in the only chair. “You know the Frost Giants.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Iduna looked away, suddenly more interested in the polished stone surface of the nearby wall than her fellow captive. Maggie stepped across the floor to the pedestal bed.
“Loki?” Maggie shook his shoulders and stared down into his face, looking for any sign of change.
“Don’t bother,” Iduna said over her shoulder. “There’s no rousing him.”
“But we’ve got to do something.” Maggie hunched over his unmoving body. She leaned her face down close to his.
“Loki, wake up. It’s me, Maggie. Can you hear me?” She checked Loki’s pulse and rate of respiration—both nearly nonexistent now—and inspected the skin beneath his fingernails. She didn’t think he was supposed to be so blue. “You’ve got to wake up, okay?”
“Really, you’ll wear yourself out, carrying on like that.” Iduna sat with her back to Loki and Maggie, and ran her fingers through her long hair. “There’s no point, you know.”
Maggie stopped what she was doing and stared hard at Iduna. “What are you talking about?” she practically shrieked. Then, remembering the Frost Giants would likely come running at the slightest provocation, Maggie hurried to the table to stand in front of the petulant goddess. “He needs a hospital.”
Iduna looked up at her coldly, and then burst out laughing. “A hospital? Are you serious?”
Maggie planted her fists on her hips. “He needs help!”
“My dear,” Iduna offered a condescending smile. “If you were to demand as much from our hosts here, you would do nothing more than reveal yourself as utterly and completely useless. And human, at that. There’s no telling what they might do with you.”
Maggie frowned. Geirrod seemed courteous enough, and it would be easy to be swayed by his appearance of concerned and attentive chivalry. But Iduna was right. These creatures had abducted her, right from Heimdall’s side. And Geirrod had made it clear he had no love for humans.
Maggie sank to her knees on the cool, stone floor—the same dark gray color as the walls, the ceiling, and even the stone slab which served as Loki’s bed. Her gaze fell on the thick socks someone—Geirrod?—had slipped onto her feet while she was unconscious, and she wondered where her shoes were. She remembered slipping on her Keen sandals back at the hotel while Heimdall combed his hair . . . How long had it been since she’d had a shower or even run a wet cloth over her face? Maggie was afraid that if she requested the opportunity to bathe, Geirrod would insist upon supervising.
“Loki,” she whispered, feeling her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know how to get out of this mess.”
Maggie wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her hand. She closed her eyes tight and worked hard at visualizing Heimdall storming the fortress with his kin, breaking down the doors or blowing holes in the walls with military-grade explosives, charging inside to do hand-to-hand combat with Geirrod and however many other giants might be inside. The Frost Giants were easily dispatched in Maggie’s imagination. Heimdall would come rushing into this very room to find her. Loki would spontaneously awaken, offer a rational explanation for everything that had transpired, and then Maggie would be whisked away to safety in the fleet of hybrid SUVs Heimdall had waiting outside.
“Are you ill, Lady Maggie?”
Geirrod’s voice startled Maggie out of her daydream. She brushed the tears from her face and pushed herself up to her feet.
“No. I’m fine,” she sniffed. “I’m simply tired. Fatigued. That’s all.”
“It’s your own fault, Geirrod.” Iduna rose from her chair. “Daring to intrude upon a goddess’ sacred meditation? You only delay her healing work with this boorish behavior.”
Maggie was unsettled by the commanding anger in Iduna’s voice, and even more so by the fumbling half-bow Geirrod offered in response. “Forgive me, divine ladies. I meant no offense.”
The giant chanced a glance toward Loki’s stone bed. Maggie followed his gaze and swallowed hard when she saw that the motionless god had grown even paler. For all Maggie knew, the giants themselves had done this to Loki.
“You have had no success?” Geirrod asked.
Maggie felt her throat tighten. She made a futile gesture toward Loki with one hand and opened her mouth, but had no idea what she could—or should—say.
“What have I told you about these interruptions?” Iduna nearly shouted, her irate voice echoing off the curved walls. “First, you steal my own gifts, then you nip at the heels of the next healer you kidnap and scarcely give her room to breathe!”
Clearing his throat, a second giant stepped meekly into the room.
“Thiassen,” he introduced himself to Maggie with a polite dip of the head. “Perhaps you remember me from the square?”
My kidnapper. Maggie’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw that he was carrying her purse. Thiassen walked passed Geirrod and placed the bag on the end of the stone bed, by Loki’s feet.
“Perhaps it was our error, in keeping your tools from you, Lady Maggie.” Thiassen backed away from the bed with outstretched, supplicating hands. “We had to be certain you carried no weapons, nor any other means of doing harm. Even so, I and my brethren apologize.”
He half-bowed to her and Iduna, and Maggie noticed Geirrod flushing red.
“I told you I would bring the bag to her!” Geirrod snapped at Thiassen. “You had no business interfering.”
Thiassen smirked at his slightly shorter compatriot. “You said you would bring it, yet you had not done so.” He glanced sideways at Maggie and smiled. “I did not want to keep the lovely young goddess waiting.”
Geirrod sank an angry finger into the coarse wool of Thiassen’s tunic. “It is my duty to serve the goddess Maggie! When Thrym first asked us to choose, you spoke for Saga—not Maggie.”
Is Saga here, too? Maggie opened her mouth to speak, bu
t Iduna’s hand on her shoulder warned her to keep her tongue.
Thiassen pushed Geirrod back, and he nearly slammed into the wall.
“And Saga is not yet here, is she?” Thiassen bellowed. The giant stormed at Geirrod while gesturing toward Maggie. “Maggie is here. You cannot fault me for exploring all possible avenues.”
Geirrod straightened his spine and stepped forward until his and Thiassen’s boots were practically touching. He lifted himself on his toes to bring himself closer to Thiassen’s height.
“The plan has not altered. You cannot change your choice now that we are in the midst of its execution.” Geirrod cocked his head in Maggie’s direction. “This one is spoken for. Take your challenge to Thrym himself, if you wish, although you know it will be struck down and my claim will be upheld.”
Maggie retreated to the head of the stone bed, placing the pedestal and Loki between her and the arguing giants.
Iduna stepped forward. “Boys, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. Your petty bickering has upset the young goddess, and I think you’ve set back Loki’s healing quite enough for one day.” Her eyes narrowed and she took another bold step toward the giants. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Gripping the edge of the stone pedestal, Maggie looked down at Loki and willed him to wake up.
Loki! Her gaze bore into his forehead, as though she could forge a psychic link with the slumbering god that might rouse him from his lifeless state. Loki! Help me!
For a thrilling moment, she thought she saw the slightest crease form on the god’s brow.
Loki! She screamed again in silence. Please! I think I’m in real danger here. Heimdall would want you to help me! Maggie squeezed her eyes tight and hunched her shoulders forward. Loki, please wake up!
Struck by the sudden silence in the room, Maggie cautiously opened her eyes. Geirrod and Thiassen stood at the other end of the stone bed, watching her.
Iduna's Apples (Valhalla Book 2) Page 7