The Sleeping Army

by Francesca Simon

  Roskva’s face crumpled. ‘Making fun of you? Snot, I love you! I love you more than my life. You are fairer than any god. You’re the sun, the moon, and the stars. None beam as brightly as your eyes. And your crooked brows … and strong arms … and muscular chest … and … and … Oh Gods! Let’s run away together! Now! Come on! The night is young,’ she simpered, tugging frantically on his hairy arm.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ scowled Snot. ‘Go play with the trolls.’

  ‘It’s like someone’s cast a spell on her,’ said Freya. Grumpy, bossy, complaining Roskva was a hundred times better than this one.

  Alfi slapped his forehead.

  ‘Snot, the rune the All-Father gave you. He must have told you a love-charm instead by mistake. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Can’t you both PLEASE just go away and leave me alone with my darling love?’ wailed Roskva. ‘Don’t you know when you’re not wanted?’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ muttered Alfi, grabbing hold of Roskva’s hand and pulling her along the path. Roskva allowed herself to be dragged for a moment, then suddenly stopped and shouted:

  Oh Snot, Snot, Snot,

  I feel hot hot hot

  I love you a lot

  My heart’s tied in a knot

  Some may think you’re a blot

  That your legs are too squat

  But when I’m around you I’m besot-ot-ot-ted.

  ‘Oh Gods, not poetry too,’ said Alfi, groaning. Roskva kept trying to wind her arms around Snot’s neck. Every time he peeled them off.

  ‘Roskva,’ said Freya. ‘Please. We have a job to do …’

  ‘Job!’ squealed Roskva, jumping on to Snot’s back. ‘What job? I’m in love! I’m in love! I’m in love!’

  ‘How long are we going to have to bear this?’ said Freya.

  Snot dumped Roskva, pulled out his sword and beckoned Alfi and Freya over to him.

  ‘Stay there!’ he ordered her.

  ‘Whatever you say, my honey lamb,’ she cooed.

  ‘I say we kill her,’ said Snot.

  ‘No!’ said Alfi.

  ‘Don’t you tell my darling “no” in that tone of voice,’ said Roskva.

  ‘Be calm, be calm,’ said Freya. ‘How long does a rune last?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alfi.

  ‘Will it wear off?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alfi. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

  ‘We can tie her up and leave her to the wolves. She’s useless like this,’ said Snot.

  ‘Can we reverse it?’ said Freya.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Say the rune backwards,’ said Freya.

  ‘What and risk whipping up a storm, or causing an earthquake?’ said Alfi. ‘The All-Father’s magic is powerful beyond all things. You don’t just say these words lightly and hope for the best.’

  ‘Got a better idea?’ said Freya.

  ‘It will never work,’ said Alfi. ‘Don’t say the words. Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. She could burst into flames. She could end up hating us all. She could—’

  ‘Oh Snotty! Where are you, my dearest darling? Don’t leave me!’ cooed Roskva, running over to him and covering him with kisses.

  Snot gritted his teeth and recited the rune.

  Roskva froze. She dropped her arms to her side and stepped back, wiping her mouth and blinking.

  ‘Well?’ she snapped. ‘Why are you all looking at me? Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ve been sleeping in a giant’s glove. That’s G-I-A-N-T. The fire will attract all evil creatures. What are you waiting for?’

  ‘You,’ said Alfi. He smiled at Freya.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ said Roskva.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Freya.

  She’d done something right. She’d actually done something right.

  6 Thrymheim

  Freya shut her eyes as Sleipnir’s hooves skidded round the edge of the sheer cliff and she glimpsed the glacier-filled ravine far below. A torrential waterfall tumbled into the valley. They were now climbing steadily up the charcoal-black mountains along a treacherous track. And all the while, hail pelted them and shrill winds whipped their cloaks. Freya’s breath froze and her lashes were laced with ice. Her lungs hurt every time she breathed.

  Perched at the top of a high precipice loomed Thrymheim, Thjazi’s sullen storm-home, hewn out of iron-grey rock and lashed with snow and whirling winds. It rose out of the freezing fog like a dungeon tossed above ground.

  They dismounted, drenched, out of sight of the giant’s lair. Freya’s numb feet were soaked. Gods, she hated having wet feet. Why couldn’t the Gods do their own dirty work? she thought rebelliously, slopping through the slimy snow. She staggered under the weight of Snot’s sodden cloak, which hung heavy from her shoulders. She gritted her teeth. The moment she’d been dreading had arrived.

  They left Sleipnir, trembling after his long climb, hidden in a dip in the rocks a short distance from the hideous hall. Freya saw his eight legs were now mottled ivory up to his great chest. She shivered, and not just from the aching cold. A few frozen sheep huddled together in a nearby stone-walled pen.

  Snot led the way as they crept towards the towering lair, almost bent double in the buffeting wind. No smoke billowed from the gap at the top of the gabled roof. The gigantic front door was ajar.

  ‘That’s a stroke of luck,’ said Alfi.

  ‘It’s not like he gets many visitors up here, is it?’ said Roskva, raising her voice to be heard against the wind.

  ‘But he’s left the door wide open,’ said Freya. She’d never do that in London. ‘You don’t think it’s because he’s … expecting us?’

  ‘Let’s keep watch,’ whispered Roskva. ‘We’ll wait till he leaves, then sneak in.’

  ‘And if he catches us?’ said Freya. Her heart thudded.

  ‘We can pretend to be servants looking for work,’ said Roskva.

  ‘Look!’ hissed Alfi, pointing down.

  There below the precipice, Freya glimpsed the back of a giant so huge his shoulders touched the mountains on either side of the valley as he strode away.

  Freya exhaled. ‘Oh my Gods,’ she breathed. Even Snot paled.

  ‘Still fancy single combat?’ said Roskva.

  Snot glowered and bit his battle-worn shield. ‘I’ve never run from a fight and I won’t now,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Roskva. ‘Fate’s given us our chance to find Idunn.’

  Please Gods, prayed Freya. Please Gods let her still be here.

  They crept through the door. Blustery winds gusted through the bleak, cavernous hall. Everyone shivered. Freya’s teeth chattered, and her fingers were raw and icy. Had she ever been so cold before?

  The wind howled, slamming doors, blowing and banging. Embers from a small fire glowed in the immense hearth by the hall’s entrance, flanked by the tallest benches Freya had ever seen. The air reeked of damp decay.

  They wandered in silence the length of the cold, dark, dank, filthy room, hewn from the bluish rock.

  There were gigantic carved gold chairs covered in filthy blankets. Globs of greasy hair and fur clumped in corners. Moth-eaten tapestries, black with smoke, flapped in the wind. Fish guts congealed where they’d slopped on to the damp stone floor. There were cracked drinking horns, vats of ale, and barrels of stinking dried herring, along with piles of wolf pelts and bear skins. Giant nets dangled from the walls, alongside fishing poles and rusty spears. Heaps of candle wax piled up below the iron-spiked wall sconces. Bones, half-eaten, were scattered on top of bloody knives and filthy gold platters crawling with mould.

  Freya felt like a little mouse scuttling about as she tried to avoid the slippery fish guts. There was junk everywhere, except the junk was all gold and silver. Thrymheim reminded her of a picture she’d once seen in Hello! magazine of a Russian oligarch and his spiky-taloned wife enthroned in a gilded gold room. The whole place stank of fish.

  And something much worse. Much, much worse. They passed
reeking barrels of brown water, filled with huge floating … Freya recoiled, hoping it wasn’t what she thought it was. The stench was unbelievable. Freya picked her way past the slops, holding her nose and retching.

  There were enormous buckets crammed with fish heads up to her shoulders. One was knocked over, spilling its smelly contents on to the ground. Snot grabbed a fish head and munched. The eyeballs popped out and rolled on the floor. He swooped down and scooped them into his mouth.

  ‘What?’ he said, as Freya stared at him.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  They pushed open the heavy doors to the side rooms. They found two bed chambers, and a toilet so disgusting that Freya almost fainted.

  ‘Guess he got tired of using this stinkhole,’ said Roskva, holding her nose, ‘so he’s turned the whole place into a cesspit.’

  ‘If he comes back let’s not say we’re servants looking for work,’ muttered Alfi.

  There was only one room left. The door was smaller than the others, and there was a key in the lock.

  Snot hoisted Roskva up on to his shoulders. Reaching as high as she could, Roskva turned the key.

  The door opened. They all gasped as their eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  ‘What a gold-hoard,’ breathed Alfi.

  Heaped on the floor were gleaming swords, shining shields, gold arm rings and brooches, axes with jewelled handles and ash spears inlaid with silver.

  Snot pushed past him and started stuffing his knapsack with as much gold as he could scoop up. Alfi and Roskva fell upon the hoard as well, filling their pockets.

  Freya hesitated. Just one of those gold arm rings or brooches must be worth … was it stealing, to steal from a giant? Especially a giant who had stolen Idunn?

  ‘Stop – you’re stealing …’ began Freya.

  The others ignored her. Alfi looked at her, surprised.

  ‘This isn’t stealing,’ he said. ‘We’re plundering an enemy.’

  ‘Doesn’t your father go raiding?’ said Roskva, stuffing arm rings into her pouch.

  ‘No!’ said Freya.

  ‘How do you gain wealth then?’ said Alfi.

  Not by being an inner-city priestess like Clare or working at the British museum like Bob, thought Freya. The memory of her parents bit into her heart.

  ‘You get a job … and you work.’

  ‘Like on a farm?’ said Alfi. ‘No one gets rich working on a farm. My parents barely had a cauldron and an oak chest. Oh, if they could see all this!’

  Roskva grabbed a sword and tucked it into her belt. Then she handed Freya a long sword attached to a leather strap. ‘Take this. You may need it.’

  Freya stared at the sword, covered in runic inscriptions, heavy and warm in her hand. It was so leaden she could barely lift it. What would she do with a sword except trip over it? She set it back down on the heap of weapons.

  ‘Come on, we’re looking for Idunn, we don’t have time to waste,’ said Freya, leaving the hoard. Had the gold made them forget that almost half their bodies were now mottled ivory?

  ‘Freya’s right,’ said Alfi, grabbing one last brooch as he followed her. ‘We can always come back for more.’

  They continued searching the entire storm-hall, every room, every chest, but there was no sign of Idunn or her apples.

  ‘She’s not here,’ said Alfi, striving to be heard above the whistling wind.

  ‘Idunn!’ shouted Roskva. ‘Idunn! It’s Roskva. Are you here?’ Her voice echoed eerily in the vast hall.

  Freya felt hideously disappointed. What had she expected, to find Idunn sitting at a loom or tending to a fire? She realised she’d been hoping against hope that somehow it would all turn out right.

  ‘Let’s get some food,’ said Roskva. Her teeth chattered. ‘I’m starving. Then we must decide what to do.’

  ‘Kill the giant,’ snarled Snot.

  Fat lot of good that will do, thought Freya.

  The table was far too high to reach, so Alfi grabbed a fishing rod, scrambled up on to a bench and swept the table to knock down whatever was on it. A massive loaf of barley bread and a bowl of curds and whey flopped to the floor. They fell on the food. After the berries and the rotten oat cakes and the tree sap it tasted like heaven. Freya felt like Goldilocks. I should wash my – oh forget it, she thought, shovelling bread into her mouth. I’ll be dead soon, I can live a little.

  There was a fluttering sound.

  ‘Look!’ hissed Roskva. ‘Oh look!’ She pointed to the beam high above their heads. A mass of feathers hung over it, ruffling in the wind.

  It was a falcon skin. It shimmered and glimmered, the feathers flecked with gold and blue.

  ‘That’s Freyja’s falcon skin,’ said Alfi. ‘I’d know it anywhere.’

  ‘It means Loki was definitely here,’ said Roskva, beaming. ‘Freyja loaned it to him to fly here. He can’t change into a bird: only to earth-bound creatures.’

  ‘Then why would he leave the falcon skin behind?’ said Freya.

  Roskva shrugged. ‘Something obviously happened to him here. There’s no way he would abandon it. Maybe he left in a hurry. Maybe Thjazi killed him.’

  ‘Maybe he froze to death,’ said Alfi.

  ‘Quick, let’s get it down,’ said Roskva. ‘Freya can fly up to it.’

  What? thought Freya. Fly?

  The ground began to shake. There was a THUD! And then another. And another.

  ‘Oh Gods, he’s back! Hide!’ said Roskva.

  Snot bristled.

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ he growled. ‘A berserk doesn’t hide.’

  ‘Shut up and hide!’ ordered Roskva. ‘Or we’ll all die.’

  Snot hesitated, then slipped into the storeroom off to the side. ‘I’ll kill him later,’ he muttered.

  The others barely had time to duck behind barrels before a giant stomped in, carrying huge buckets of speared fish, entrails and guts.

  ‘That’s not Thjazi,’ murmured Alfi. Freya could scarcely breathe. The giant was wearing a coat of mail, a battered helmet, and carried a sword and an enormous round shield emblazoned with eagles gnawing at a corpse. He took off the helmet and armour and shook out tangled frizzy green hair. Freya gasped.

  It wasn’t a he. It was a she. The ugliest hag Freya had ever seen, with small, squinting, bloodshot eyes and a hideous wart-covered face. Great bands of fat swelled around her middle. Her arms bulged out of her tunic sleeves. Her thighs were like tree trunks. Her short dress was far too tight. Freya had a horrible feeling she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  The giantess lifted her leg and farted loudly. A terrible stink hung over the room. Freya covered her nose and tried not to breathe.

  The disgusting creature picked up a vast drinking horn and gulped. She drank, and drank, and drank, the liquid pouring down her face and slopping onto the floor. She belched and wiped her dripping mouth with her sleeve.

  Then she sniffed the air.

  ‘Snugglebum? Snugglebum? Is that you?’

  They froze.

  The giantess continued sniffing. A huge smile gashed her face and she punched the air with her hairy fist.

  ‘You’ve come back for me at last, my little snugglechops!’ she cooed. ‘You certainly took your time. But your itty-bitty Skadi-Waddi isn’t mad. Come on out and show yourself. No need to be shy! Daddy’s not at home. Just your darling Skadi!’

  No one moved. Freya thought she would pass out. Thjazi had a daughter. A daughter. Now they had two giants to deal with.

  ‘I can smell you, you know,’ said the giantess, primping and running her thick fingers through her bristly hair. ‘Why don’t you come out from the storeroom and give your little Skadi a kiss? Or do I have to come and get you?’

  Reluctantly, Roskva, Alfi, and Freya came out from behind their barrels and stood trembling at the storeroom’s entrance. After a moment, Snot joined them, hand on his sword. Next to the giantess, even he looked puny as she loomed over them, glowering.

  ‘If she attacks, use the love cha
rm,’ muttered Freya.

  Snot went ashen.

  ‘I’ll kill her first,’ he spat.

  Skadi’s face fell.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh. You’re not him. You’re just thieves. How dare you, you lousy, stinking—’ she drew her sword. Roskva, Alfi, and Snot drew theirs.

  ‘No!’ said Alfi. ‘Wait! We’re not thieves. We’re …’

  ‘No one comes here!’ bellowed Skadi, advancing towards them. ‘No one. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?’

  ‘Tell her, Roskva,’ said Alfi, quaking.

  Roskva glared at her brother.

  ‘We’re Thor’s bondservants,’ said Roskva. Her voice was shaking. ‘The door was open so we came in to wait for you.’

  Skadi looked confused. ‘Thor’s bondservants? Thor? Then you’ve come from … Asgard?’

  Roskva nodded.

  Skadi’s face lit up. ‘Was Loki there? Have you seen him?’

  Huh?

  Roskva hesitated.

  ‘No,’ said Roskva.

  Skadi’s face sagged. Freya held her breath. Should Roskva have lied and said yes?

  ‘Why are you here?’ roared Skadi. She glowered. ‘Thor hates giants.’

  Snot gripped his sword and stepped towards her.

  ‘Back off or I’ll kill you!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Use – the – charm!’ hissed Freya.

  ‘We’re here … we’re here …’ began Roskva.

  ‘We’re here because Thor’s looking for a wife,’ said Freya. She had no idea how that thought popped into her head.

  Skadi snorted and lowered her sword a fraction.

  ‘He’s got a wife,’ said Skadi. ‘That old salmon-faced Sif.’

  ‘Not for himself,’ said Roskva. ‘For one of his handsome sons.’

  ‘Which one?’ said Skadi.

  ‘Magni,’ said Alfi. ‘The strong one.’

  ‘The giantess Jarnsaxa’s son,’ said Roskva. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

  Skadi’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘Well, well, well. What bride gifts have you brought?’

  Gifts? Gifts? They exchanged looks.

  Alfi took off a gold arm band and held it out.

  Skadi laughed. Her laugh was like a fox shrieking in the night.

  ‘Is that a jest?’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t like jests. Magni must have offered something better than a bent old bracelet to tempt me. What else?’ Her voice was steel.