‘It’s just … us, Lord,’ said Roskva. ‘We’re the only ones who woke when she blew the horn.’
The assembled Gods murmured.
‘This is our sleeping army! Four? Just … four? These … mortals! These … these – children!’ spat a toothless God.
‘I’m no child,’ said Snot. The gnarled skin on his thick neck tensed. ‘I’m not a babysitter either. I was one of Woden’s berserks.’
‘Alfi and I can take care of ourselves,’ said Roskva.
I can’t, Freya wanted to whimper.
‘The charm is weakening,’ whispered Woden. ‘The whole army should have woken … There should be over a hundred warriors here … My powers are fading.’
The assembled Gods sighed. The Goddess Freyja began to weep. Tears of gold fell from the cataract-covered eyes and plinked on the dirt. Someone Freya presumed was the Goddess’s husband leaned over to wipe her eyes, but she pushed him away.
‘We are nothing more now than breath in the trees, the rustling of leaves, the foam on the waves. We who used to make and destroy, reduced to rustling,’ moaned Sif.
‘I HATE rustling,’ hissed the Goddess Freyja. Her palsied hands shook.
‘Wait … for … me!’ gasped a voice.
‘Master?’ breathed Alfi. His eyes filled with tears as he bowed to the frail, dripping-wet man with a hint of a red beard still visible on his gaunt jaw. He paused to regain his breath at every painful step.
Freya stared. This was Thor? The mighty Thor, the killer of giants? The God who could devour an ox and eight salmon at one sitting, who heaved boulders and shattered cliffs? The God of thunder and stormy skies?
Roskva looked shocked. ‘Master.’ Almost unwillingly she smiled. ‘Still wading through all those rivers to get here, I see.’
‘Ah, Roskva. Thialfi.’ A tiny smile flittered across the skull-like face. ‘You’ve returned to save us. At last.’
‘As if we had any—’ began Roskva.
‘Of course we have,’ interrupted Alfi, kicking her.
Roskva kicked him back.
‘Ow,’ said Alfi. ‘That hurt.’
‘Good,’ said Roskva.
‘Good to see you, my boy, good to see you both,’ gasped Thor. ‘’Course I can’t see you, too blind now, but I heard your voices. You are still young. That’s good. That’s very good. Speak again.’
‘Master,’ said Alfi, brushing tears away from his eyes, ‘where’s your hammer?’
‘Hammer?’ muttered Thor. ‘What hammer?’
Roskva gasped. ‘Your hammer, Mjollnir. The one you use to smash giants. The one only you can lift. Mjollnir.’
‘Ah!’ said Thor. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something. Mjollnir … yes, now where did I put it?’ He looked around as if the hammer would appear before him.
Snot grunted and said nothing.
‘Tell me one thing,’ rasped Woden. ‘Are we still worshipped and feared? My ravens who brought me news of the world of men are long dead.’
Freya gulped. What should she say? Dare she tell him about the half-empty fanes attended mainly by old ladies or students praying for extra wisdom during exams? Oh and of course by families trying to get their children into the local Fane of England school who turned up every Sunday for a few years till priests like her mum wrote a letter to the headteacher testifying to their attendance and then … poof! Never seen again until they wanted a fane wedding or a baby-naming?
And what about all the other religions?
‘Answer me,’ ordered Woden.
‘Lots of people worship and honour you,’ said Freya. ‘Your High Priests sit in the House of Lords. The Queen of England is the head of your Fane.’
Woden groaned. The assembled Gods groaned with him. The air filled with sighs.
‘Just lots? Lots! Not all? It’s as I feared – there are other gods now … taking our place,’ hissed Woden. ‘False gods. And we can do nothing to destroy them while we are … like this.’
‘Why do people worship other gods besides us?’ said Njord, God of winds and wealth. ‘We are the Immortals! We gave them sun, and crops, and fish in the sea and oxen to till the land, and battles to fight, and Valhalla for the brave …’
‘Our gifts to mankind are poorly repaid,’ said Frey. ‘We demand to be worshipped. We are the Lords your Gods. You shall have no other gods before us.’
‘Lots of worshippers is still good,’ said Freya.
‘You’re lying,’ said Frigg.
‘I no longer smell sacrifices,’ said Woden.
Freya didn’t know what to say. How could Woden not know that sacrifices stopped hundreds of years ago?
‘My mother is your priestess. She has a big throng every Sunday at her fane,’ said Freya. ‘And on feast days it’s packed.’
Woden looked as if he could see straight into her thoughts.
‘You’re lying. Again.’
‘I’m not lying,’ said Freya. ‘I’m … umm …’ She was saying what she thought he wanted to hear.
‘You were saying what you thought I wanted to hear,’ said Woden. ‘I crave knowledge, not lies.’
Freya bowed her head.
‘I always got more sacrifices than you,’ said Njord.
‘Didn’t,’ said one-handed Tyr.
‘Did!’
‘I had more temples than all of you,’ said Thor.
‘I want my gold-bright hall again,’ whispered Frigg.
‘I want my beauty,’ moaned the Goddess Freyja.
‘I want to kill giants,’ said Thor.
‘Eh?’ said Heimdall, waking up. ‘Giants? Where?’
‘What’s happened to you, Lords?’ said Freya. She felt bewildered. ‘Why am I here?’
Woden smiled a ghost of a smile.
‘The hornblower brings us back to our business,’ he said. ‘Listen carefully. Our time is very short.’
Freya strained to hear his faint voice. Roskva stifled a yawn. Alfi jabbed her in the ribs. She glared at him.
Woden cleared his throat. ‘The Goddess Idunn, who guarded the apples of immortality which we ate to keep us young, was stolen from us by the giant Thjazi. Loki the Trickster—’ the Gods moaned and snarled at Loki’s name, drowning out Woden’s feeble voice. He raised his skeletal hand to quiet them.
‘Loki gave her to that evil giant, may curses rain upon him and fire consume him and his hearth. We ordered Loki to bring Idunn back. But he – and she – never returned.’
Freya gasped.
‘Idunn never came back?’
‘No,’ said Woden.
‘But everyone knows that Loki rescued Idunn,’ she said. ‘The Gods regained their youth. Loki returned to Asgard with Idunn and her apples … it says so in the sacred Edda …’
Woden glared at her with his dark, deadly eye. Freya shrank back. Snot scowled.
‘That was the story we told. You think we wanted the world to know the truth? Loki never came back. Whether because he wouldn’t, or because he couldn’t, even I don’t know. Loki is the son of a giant, a trickster, a shape-shifter, and the father of lies. We’ve been dying from the moment he led Idunn out of Asgard. We who were beyond time are now its subjects. Then the sleeping army … the army I …’
Woden trailed off. Drool dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. Freya averted her eyes. He reminded her, horribly, of her old cat, Caesar, who’d shrunk to a tottery grey ghost before he died.
‘I have lost the thread of my thoughts,’ murmured Woden. He struck himself hard on the forehead. Some of the Gods, who’d been dozing, startled awake.
‘You were telling them about the sleeping army,’ hissed Frigg. ‘Be quick about it.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Woden. His voice was getting fainter. Freya moved closer to hear him. She was longing to sit down and rest.
‘Sit,’ said Woden. ‘All of you.’
Alfi, Roskva, and Freya gathered at his feet. Only Snot remained standing.
‘Long, long ago, when all was well with Gods and men, I wove
a mighty charm and sent an army to sleep under the mountains. There they would lie, my hidden warriors, disguised as chess pieces, ready to wake when Heimdall’s horn summoned them. I thought the twilight of the Gods would be far, far off. I did not know a time of deadly peril would arrive so much sooner … even I cannot foresee everything.’
Woden sighed. There was a faint snoring sound. The Goddess Freyja kicked her husband to wake him. Sif sat listening, twisting her gnarled hands. The others dozed, their heads sinking to their shrunken, wrinkled chests.
‘At first, when Loki did not return, I sent Valhalla’s best warriors to find Idunn, but … they failed. I sent more heroes, snatched from the world of men. They also failed.
‘It was time to wake the sleeping army, but the horn had vanished. Heimdall had hidden it somewhere in a spring to keep it safe, but by now his mind had gone, he could no longer remember where, he kept saying, ‘What horn? What horn?’
The Gods sighed and glared at Heimdall.
‘What horn?’ said Heimdall.
‘Oh shut up!’ snapped Sif.
‘We searched and searched, but we were now too weak to leave Asgard. The horn was never found.
‘With the last of my strength I sacrificed my horse, Sleipnir, and the two young mortals amongst us, Roskva and Thialfi, to sleep with the army and guide them here when a great hero found the horn and woke them.
‘And so it has come to pass as the seeress foretold. Heimdall’s horn was blown at long last.
‘But the entire army didn’t wake. Just … you.’
Roskva and Alfi glanced at one another. Snot gripped his sword and growled under his breath.
Uh-oh, thought Freya. Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of this. Could Woden hear her heart banging against her chest?
‘Our fate is a harsh one, Lord,’ said Roskva. Alfi poked her.
‘Fate rules all our lives,’ said Woden. ‘Even the Gods.’
‘Just tell me who to kill,’ said Snot. ‘My sword is sharp and ready.’
‘You four are our last hope,’ said Woden.
‘Ha!’ snorted Sif.
‘Some hope,’ muttered Frigg.
Woden ignored them.
‘You must save us. The giant Thjazi took Idunn the ever-young to his storm-home high in the mountains of Jotunheim. Go to the realm of the giants. Find Idunn and bring her back. Otherwise, we will die.
‘And when we die the weeping world will die with us. The ice is melting. I can feel it. I can hear it. Drip. Drip. Drip. The waters are rising. The Frost Giants will rise up, freed from their icy bonds. Then the Axe-Age and the Wind-Age and the Wolf-Age will be upon the earth.’
Let the ice melt, thought Freya viciously. She felt as if she were struggling through quicksand. What can I do? Find Idunn? Find Thjazi? What?
‘Don’t ask me to do this,’ Freya whimpered. She thought of terrible things she’d been forced to do in the past. Wear a hideous pink dress to the school disco. Babysit her bratty cousin. Eat beetroot. Walk to the top of Arthur’s Seat in the Edinburgh rain. Invite Grisla Taylor to her birthday party. Sing a solo at Ruth Kirsch’s bat-mitzvah. Clean her bedroom every Saturday. Go on a rollercoaster.
‘You will do as you’re told,’ said Tyr. ‘We are the Lords your Gods.’
Alfi looked at Freya open-mouthed. Then he fell to his knees.
‘We are ready to obey,’ he said.
‘Tell us where to go,’ said Roskva.
‘I will kill Thjazi, I vow it,’ said Snot.
Everything was happening too fast.
‘Wait!’ said Freya. She jumped to her feet. ‘Wait. I’m a schoolgirl. I’m not even old enough to stay home alone at night. Of course if I were, then I wouldn’t be here, would I? This is all some terrible mistake. I blew the horn by accident and I was in the stupid museum by accident because my dad is stupid and my parents are divorced. Please. You can’t ask me to do this. I don’t even have a coat with me!’ she wailed.
Roskva muttered under her breath. ‘I’d shut up if I were you.’
‘It is not for you to decide yes or no,’ said the Father of All. ‘It’s enough that I command it.’
‘You can’t make me.’ Freya felt as if a bratty voice inside her was speaking. Fear made her reckless.
The assembled Gods gasped and hissed. Thor half-rose, but couldn’t get up and collapsed back on to the stone.
Roskva muttered under her breath. ‘I’d really shut up if I were you. He’s killed people for much less.’
‘You DARE to challenge the will of the All-Father, Waker of the Dead, Giver of Victory, the All-Mighty, the …’ Woden broke off, coughing, hacking, wheezing and clutching his wizened chest. ‘Don’t you want to outlive your mortality?’ he rasped. ‘Life is so short. You came from darkness and in a few flaps of a raven’s wing you will return to darkness. Without renown, without glory, you are nothing. You’ll be nothing. You should be eager for fame.’ His filmy eye glared at her contemptuously.
Eager for fame? Freya looked bewildered at the one-eyed God as he swayed before her, gasping for breath. Of course she wanted to be famous. Didn’t everyone? But she wanted to be a famous rock star. A famous writer. A famous palaeontologist. A famous tap dancer (even though she had two left feet – a girl could dream, couldn’t she?). Not a famous – uhh – giant killer. Or a famous apple snatcher.
Right now she’d gladly settle for being alive, a little unfamous nobody.
‘I want to go home,’ said Freya. ‘Please find someone else.’
‘You’re pathetic,’ said Snot. ‘My sheep are braver than you.’
‘Good for them,’ said Freya. ‘They can take my place.’
‘The length of your life and the day of your death was fated long ago,’ whispered Thor. ‘So you might as well live fearlessly while you can.’
‘My mum – my dad will be worried about me,’ said Freya.
Woden shrugged. ‘Then you will join the others,’ he said softly.
‘What others?’ said Freya.
‘All the other chess pieces,’ murmured Woden. ‘So many more than a single chess set needs. You remember that multitude of queens? Those extra kings? Those rows and rows of knights and pawns? They’re the warriors I sent first, the ones who survived, the ones who failed to find Idunn.’
Freya trembled.
‘The chess pieces … in the museum?’
‘You will become a chess piece and sleep with the army – till another hero rouses them.’ Woden fixed her with his crazed eye. ‘And since you care so little for renown, I think you will sleep as a pawn.’
Freya could not stop shaking. To be frozen … lacking in fate, trapped in a glass case … the horror of it overwhelmed her.
I’ll run away, she thought frantically. I’ll hide and no one will—
‘In nine nights your fate will catch up with you wheresoever you are,’ said Woden.
‘What do you mean?’ said Freya. She wished she could stop him reading her thoughts.
‘You cannot outrun your fate. Even I cannot change what will be. In nine days and nine nights you will be victorious and live, or fail and turn into ivory.’
Freya closed her eyes. Now she had her bitter answer why the chess pieces looked so glum.
She saw herself on the chessboard, frozen forever, her eyes popping, mouth downturned. What a choice: do nothing and be frozen for ever; do something and fail and be frozen for ever. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her, and she put her hands on the mossy ground to steady herself.
‘Just so I know – what happened to the others?’ whispered Freya.
‘What others?’ said Woden.
‘The ones you sent before … the ones who didn’t return …’
‘You’re wasting time, girl,’ hissed Sif.
Woden shrugged. ‘Drowned. Killed. Eaten by wolves.’
‘Squished by a giant,’ said Frey.
‘Swept away,’ said Thor.
‘And one coward jumped off Bifrost,’ said Sif.
‘Alwa
ys good to know what I have to look forward to,’ said Freya.
Woden almost smiled. ‘A death jest. Good.’
I wasn’t jesting, thought Freya.
‘Go to the realm of the giants. Find Idunn and bring her back. The giant Thjazi took Idunn to Thrymheim, his mountain home. I warn you – he is the most powerful of all the giants.’
‘I’m not afraid of giants,’ said Snot. ‘Though one of Woden’s chosen warriors merits worthier companions than two slaves and a … not sure what that herring-faced one is,’ he added, pointing his thumb at Freya.
Freya whimpered to herself.
‘You have nine nights before the charm ends and this brief life will be over for you,’ said Woden, struggling to stay awake. ‘If you succeed and bring Idunn back to Asgard, your life will be restored to you. If you fail, then you will sleep with the army until the horn is blown again … if the horn is blown again.’
Freya wanted to cry. And scream. And blame her horrible, stupid squabbling parents. She felt sick to her stomach. If only she could turn back time.
‘You cannot struggle against fate,’ said Woden.
‘We’ll leave immediately,’ said Alfi.
‘With or without this blubbing coward,’ said Snot, jerking his head in Freya’s direction.
‘Coward or no, she must go with,’ said Woden. ‘That much I know. She blew Heimdall’s horn and woke you. Without her, you will fail.’
I think they’ll fail with me, thought Freya.
There was a rustling sound as the Gods stirred. Alfi took off his crown and placed it on the ground. After a moment, reluctantly, Roskva did the same.
Is that it? thought Freya frantically.
‘Before you go,’ said Woden, ‘I have secret wisdom, secret runes, the ones I sacrificed my eye for …’ His hoarse voice trailed off.
‘Get on with it, Dad,’ rasped Thor. ‘They need to go!’
‘I can put the sea to sleep,’ muttered Woden. ‘I can make iron shackles spring open. I can fill foes with panic and weave love charms. I can knock witches off roofs. I can blunt sword blades. I can wake the dead.
‘To each of you I will share one rune,’ said Woden. ‘I have never shared these secrets, torn from the dead, with anyone. What you alone know is most powerful. You will keep these words hidden even from one another. One may know your secret, never a second.’
The Sleeping Army Page 4