Iduna's Apples (Valhalla Book 2)

by Jennifer Willis

  “Uh, I, uh,” Thor stammered with an uneasy glance at Saga.

  “Actually, I made him watch it,” Sally offered softly. “Thor was teaching me, and I was supposed to be learning all about the history of the Berserkers and everything, but then that movie was on, and I really like it—”

  “The kid needed a break,” Thor added, then cleared his throat. “Now can we get back to the task at hand?” He reached for the curtains and gathered the material up in his hands. “Do you think there’s enough here for a proper gown?”

  He spun on his heel and pointed a warning finger in Saga’s face. She closed her mouth before she could make another fat joke.

  “I’ll need to conceal weapons beneath the dress,” he clarified.

  Saga reached up as high as she could to grab hold of the curtains and the rod. “Could someone give me a hand with this?”

  Freyr crossed the floor and stood on his tiptoes to lift the curtain rod off of the wall brackets. He offered the polished wood pole to Saga with a smile, and she started to gather up the heavy fabric.

  Then Freyr’s eyes widened suddenly, before they rolled back in his head.

  “Freyr?” Saga rested the curtain rod against the wall and tried to untangle herself from the yards of fabric.

  Freyr reached instinctively for the wall to steady himself, but he found the window instead, leaving long, streaking fingerprints on the glass as his body slid to the floor.

  “Freyr!” Freya was immediately on her knees at his side, cradling his head in her lap.

  “What’s happening?!” Sally practically shrieked. Before she was even conscious of rising to her feet, she was across the floor and hovering over the twins. “What’s wrong with him? What can I do?”

  “Just give him some room,” Freya squeaked in a voice that didn’t even sound like hers. She slapped Freyr’s face lightly, trying to bring him back into focus.

  “Ugh.” Freyr reached up and grabbed Freya’s wrist to keep her from slapping him again. He blinked his eyes open. “I’m okay, really.”

  Freya shook her head. “You most certainly are not.” She glanced up and looked around Sally to find Saga. “Is this what happened to Odin? Isn’t this what Frigga described?”

  Saga nodded grimly. “It’s been happening to all of us, to one degree or another.” She gestured toward Heimdall. “I mean, you can’t exactly blame all of Heimdall’s dizziness on his concussion.”

  “No, wait—” Heimdall started to get up in protest, but the pain in his head drove him back into his seat. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “It seems I’m in no position to disagree.”

  “Not me,” Thor proclaimed loudly from the center of the room. He rested his hands proudly on his hips, then noticed his kin regarding him with raised eyebrows. “So I’m more level-headed than usual. So what?”

  Freya looked down at her brother. “How long has this been going on?”

  Freyr swallowed hard and pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I didn’t really pay attention, at first.” He glanced up at Thor. “It hit me this afternoon, on the mountain.”

  Saga took a step toward Heimdall. “And you?”

  He shook his head as slowly as he could, trying to stave off another burst of blinding pain. “Must have hit me about the same time the Frost Giant did.”

  The image of his brother getting smacked down by a Frost Giant leapt again into Thor’s mind—and struck him funny. He felt his face burn red as he tried to choke back his laughter. He finally turned his back to his brother and pretended to have a coughing fit.

  “Is he okay?” Sally hooked a thumb in Thor’s direction. “Sounds like he’s wheezing.”

  Catching Freya’s eye, Saga shrugged. “I’ve been forgetting things.”

  “Yeah,” Freya replied. She touched her brother’s face and then wiped at her suddenly tear-filled eyes.

  Freyr patted his sister’s shoulder, then climbed to his feet. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. No time to waste.”

  Saga started pulling the fabric off the curtain rod. “Freyr, I know you’re feeling woozy, but we’ll need you to hunt through this place for a sewing machine of some kind. If not . . .” She glanced quickly at Sally, who was still standing in the middle of the floor with nothing to do. “Then you can run into town to fetch sewing notions. Sally can help you.” She added with a veiled smirk.

  “I can do that!” Sally’s eyes lit up. Happy to finally be of some practical use, she tugged at the burnt crust of her sweatshirt and motioned Freyr down the hallway. “There might be a sewing machine in the linen closet, or maybe in one of the bedrooms . . .”

  Sally started down the hallway, while Freyr lingered in the living room.

  Heimdall directed a wide smile at his brother. “Sewing notions.”

  “Oh, stuff it, would you?” Thor shot back in forced exasperation. He knew he wasn’t losing his temper in nearly the spectacular fashion that was expected of him, and he figured he could at least play the part to try to put everyone at ease.

  Freya and Saga pulled the last of the fabric off of the curtain rod, and Thor picked up the empty pole and weighed it in his hands. He turned it slowly and pivoted about the room, getting a feel for it as a weapon. “What else?”

  Freya frowned. “You’ll never conceal a beam that size beneath your dress. I don’t care how much fabric we’ve got.” She titled her head and watched him parry and thrust with the curtain rod.

  “But we’ll see what we can do,” Freya added.

  Thor then spun the rod expertly over his head—and struck a sizable gash in the ceiling. Chunks of plaster rained down on his head.

  “There goes our security deposit.” Freyr coughed.

  Thor glared at him, daring the nature sprite to laugh as the god of thunder brushed plaster dust off his wide shoulders.

  “Right. Sewing machine.” Freyr walked slowly across the room and disappeared down the hallway.

  Freya stretched the curtain fabric across Thor’s chest, while Saga lifted up on her tiptoes behind him to drape the material over his broad shoulders.

  “I think we’ll just have enough.” Saga patted her brother’s thick side. “You could work out at Freya’s dojo sometime.”

  Thor rolled his eyes and untangled his feet from the curtain fabric. Freya and Saga spread the material out on the floor and started marking on the fabric with a pen.

  Heimdall rested his head against a pillow on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “So first, they’ll marry Freya off to Thrym, and then Iduna and Maggie . . .”

  “It’s not going to happen, brother.” Thor strode toward him. “We will get Maggie out of there. And Iduna . . . She’s a widow, so I don’t know that the giants would be particularly interested—”

  “That’s just ridiculous,” Saga cut him off. She rose to her knees on the floor. “You think a female—divine or otherwise—has no value unless she’s never been married? If it’s vestal virgins they’re after, they’d be better off courting at a convent.”

  Heimdall lifted his head and peered at his sister through half-open eyelids. “They’re looking for wives whose hearts have never belonged to another. For all their blustering,” he touched the tender spot on his head. “And for all the headaches they invariably cause . . .”

  Thor tried again to stifle a chuckle, and failed. He dropped down on the sofa with a sudden thud that shook the furniture and rattled the dishes in the china cabinet. When Saga turned to frown at him, he just shrugged.

  “Anyway,” Heimdall sighed loudly. “Frost Giants can be remarkably sensitive creatures. Having to compete with former lovers is something they simply can’t stomach.”

  “Awww,” Thor cooed. “I think someone’s been watching the Lifetime Network while he’s been laid up. Or is that what you and Maggie do on date nights? Does she make all your decisions now?”

  Gripping the chair’s armrests, Heimdall shook his head. “When I’m back on my feet, brother . . .”

  Thor sto
od and marched over to Heimdall’s chair, casting a long shadow over him. Thor bent down so his face was just inches from his brother’s. “Yes? When you’re back on your feet? Then what?”

  Heimdall’s jaw hardened. Despite the dizziness, he sat up straight and leaned forward in his chair, practically clawing the upholstery. “There will be a reckoning. Brother to brother, warrior to warrior. There has been enough idle chatter and cattiness from you,” he spat from between clenched teeth. He took a breath and pierced Thor with a steely glare. “You will desist immediately, or answer to me later, once all this is done.”

  Thor smiled and stood upright. “That’s better. You’ve wasted far too much time feeling sorry for yourself. Nursing your poor little head and worrying over your woman. You’ve been about as useful as a newborn mewling over melted ice cream.”

  Heimdall rose slowly to his feet, his anger muting the pain in his head and the wave of dizziness that blurred his vision. He stood toe to toe with Thor and locked eyes with him. “It’s not your place to lecture me, brother. Do I have to remind you who is in charge here?”

  Thor took a step back. “You do not. But apparently somebody had to remind you.”

  Heimdall paused, then nodded curtly. “Right.” He peeled the compress from his brow and let it drop. He stepped out to the middle of the floor and glanced around him at Freya, Saga, and Thor.

  “This is how it’s going to work.” Heimdall gestured toward Freya and Saga. “Once you’ve finished with the dress—and Thor, I’m certain you’ll look lovely in that color, with the right make-up and some flowers in your hair . . .”

  Thor snorted.

  Heimdall turned back to the women. “You will accompany us to the meeting, but will remain hidden. And I mean completely, absolutely out of sight. I don’t want you shadowing us as we head inside the fortress. You stay out.”

  Freya sighed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

  Heimdall looked sharply at Saga and waited.

  Saga rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

  “If this turns sour for us, if we run into any kind of trouble tonight, I want the two of you to return here. Immediately.” He looked at both of them in turn, waiting for each to offer a nod of acknowledgment. “You’ll fetch Sally, and you’ll be on the very first ferry out of here. No exceptions.”

  Saga frowned. “If you’re in trouble, why shouldn’t we help? We’re just supposed to slink out of here like cowards?”

  “No,” Freya offered. “If they’re defeated, there’ll be no safety for us here. Unless we want to be married off to Frost Giants.”

  “No, thank you,” Saga answered quickly.

  Freyr appeared from the hallway, carrying an ancient sewing machine. Sally was close at his elbow with a medium-sized wicker basket tucked under one arm.

  “Found these in back of the closet in one of the bedrooms.” Freyr set the machine down on the coffee table. “Sewing machine. Sewing supplies.”

  He looked to Thor and raised his eyebrows in a wry smile. “Sewing notions.”

  Thor rolled his eyes and looked away.

  Saga walked over to Sally and dug into the basket she was holding.

  “We can still run to the store, if you need more stuff,” Sally offered. “Freyr can drive.”

  Sally’s voice caught in her throat on the last syllable. She couldn’t believe how stupid she sounded. She stood in a room full of Norse gods who were gearing up to do battle with their fiercest, most bitter rivals—even though “gearing up” in this case involved bridal bouquets and sewing notions—and all the Moon Witch seemed to concern herself with was her impossible crush on a nature deity who at best thought of her as a useful pet.

  “It’s okay,” Saga offered quietly as she touched her hand, and Sally wondered if the goddess had been reading her mind. “I think we’ve got it covered.”

  Sally nodded gratefully. “I just want to help. Whatever you need.”

  Saga pulled a measuring tape out of the basket. Unrolling it, she turned to Thor. “Okay, bridezilla. Time for your fitting.”

  Thor stood still, letting Saga measure across his chest, down the length of his arms, around his waist and hips, and across his shoulders. Freya stood in front of him, trying to envision the dress.

  “Maybe something with an empire waist?” She suggested to Saga. “You know, something slimming, to minimize the . . .” She looked at Thor and shrugged. “Well, just to minimize.”

  Thor turned his head in a playful tilt. “Just so long as I don’t get left at the altar, I’ll be happy.”

  12

  Thor had to stop every few minutes to adjust the train of his dress.

  After a long climb up the rocky path, Thor, Freyr, and Heimdall approached the designated meeting area near the top of the mountain. They stopped just before rounding the next-to-last bend in the trail.

  Freyr walked ahead a few paces, then doubled back. “There are torches lit. They’re probably already there waiting for us.”

  Heimdall glanced at Thor. “You’re sure about this?”

  Thor lifted his veil, trying not to disturb his flowered crown. “What? You think I’m going to get all dressed up and then turn back?”

  Heimdall sighed. He wasn’t conscious of reaching out to steady himself against the rock wall, but Thor noticed. And Heimdall saw him notice. He quickly pushed away from the jagged surface and cleared his throat.

  “What I meant was, are you sure about heading in there, just the two of you? We can try taking them now.”

  “Just the three of us? Out in the open, against Frost Giants?” Thor frowned. “No. We have no idea how many of them there are. We go inside. Fighting in close quarters will give us an advantage.” Still holding the veil aloft with one hand, he grasped Freyr’s shoulder with the other. “And I’ve got a martial arts master right here with me.”

  Freyr smiled at the unexpected compliment.

  Thor lifted his eyebrows playfully. “Of course, your sister is more formidable, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

  Freyr groaned. He stepped out into the path again and was about to continue forward when Heimdall pulled him back.

  “If you find Maggie, you know what to do, right? If she’s in there, if she’s hurt . . .”

  Freyr gripped his cousin’s elbow. “We know what to do. And we will find her.”

  Heimdall leaned against the rock wall again. “You’d better get going.”

  “Wait a minute.” Thor dropped the lace veil over his face and struggled to adjust the heavy fabric of the tapestried gown. For quick work, Freya and Saga had done a noteworthy job. The fit was tight through the bodice, with stones stuffed into the bra for effect—and for easy access to ammunition once the fighting started. The full skirt easily hid the fighting sticks, hammer, wrench, and other tools they’d found in the rental house’s utility closet.

  “Will you help me with this?” Thor tugged at the fabric, trying to get comfortable. “I honestly have no idea how women put up with all of this.”

  Freyr stepped behind him to smooth out the gown’s sleeves and to adjust the train which had once again gotten tangled around Thor’s heavy boots. “You’re even fussier in a dress, if that’s possible.”

  Thor made a move to stomp on Freyr’s fingers as he straightened the hemline, but Freyr snatched his hand away and laughed.

  “Such a lady, too.”

  Thor grumbled beneath the lace veil. “When I get my hands on Thrym . . .”

  Freyr stood next to him and offered his arm. “Yes, no doubt you’ll give him a wedding night he’ll never forget.”

  Thor growled something unintelligible and looked down at his bouquet of white lilies—which Freyr had picked up at the village market.

  “Aren’t white lilies supposed to be for funerals?”

  Freyr didn’t even try to mask his exasperation. “Okay, first off, yes, that is the tradition in Norway. In this case, I thought the symbolism appropriate.”

  Thor turned th
e bouquet in his hands, smiling in new appreciation of the arrangement. But Freyr fixed him with a hard stare.

  “Secondly . . . Since when do you know anything about flowers?”

  Thor’s eyes widened with indignation. Pulling himself up to his full height, he cleared his throat before blasting his slender cousin, but quickly started coughing instead.

  “I— I’ve,” Thor choked, “sent a few bouquets in my time.”

  Freyr eyed him with a wry smile. Thor’s complexion reddened.

  “By Hel’s own lapdog.” Freyr shook his head. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or embarrassed.”

  Thor ignored the comment. His coughing fit ended, the big god squared his shoulders and took Freyr’s proffered arm as daintily as possible “Shall we, then?”

  Heimdall watched Thor and Freyr disappear around the bend, arm-in-arm. He reached into his pocket for Saga’s mobile phone. “They’re on their way.”

  “What can you see?” Freya replied. “How many of them are there?”

  “I’m not that close, not yet. Be patient.”

  Heimdall crept as far along the trail as he dared and peeked around the bend, all the while silently cursing summer’s endless daylight. Why couldn’t he have taken his vacation in the dark instead?

  Thor kept tripping on the hem of his gown. Every few paces, Freyr had to stop and wait for the god of thunder to disentangle himself from his own train, and then re-adjust the length of lace covering his face.

  When they stopped for the twelfth time, Freyr crossed his arms and sighed. “Is this really necessary? They’re waiting for us, you know.”

  Thor was tempted to lift his veil and hurl some wicked insult at the insubordinate nature god—kin or not—but they were too close to the arranged meeting point to risk discovery.

  “I’m doing my best,” Thor responded in a gruff approximation of a girlish lilt that didn’t sound anything like an actual female.

  Freyr tried to get a glimpse of Thor beneath the veil. “You’re not seriously going to talk like that, are you?”