Giants of the Frost

by Kim Wilkins

  “Very well,” she said, “I’ll make something up.”

  As the morning progressed, Loki laughed ill-naturedly at every attempt she made to invent a story. Finally, she could stand it no longer and stopped midsentence to say, “Loki, you mock me so much that I cannot concentrate.”

  “Petulant girl,” he said, “you are in my service and I may treat you as I please. I’m kinder to you than those oafs at Valaskjálf, aren’t I?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “You’ve been spoiled by Vidar. You aren’t a princess here in Asgard. You are lower than the lowliest worm.”

  Aud dropped her eyes, her chin set against the outburst that wanted to break free. He was right, Vidar had spoiled her. She had taken the punishment with a willing heart—anything to preserve Helgi’s life—and now she allowed herself to be upset by Loki’s teasing. She was too proud. And Loki was too sly. He seemed to know her vulnerabilities instinctively and prodded them like a curious child prods the breast of a dying bird.

  “Aud?”

  She looked up to find him, bafflingly, smiling at her. “Yes, Loki?”

  “You are a worm, aren’t you?”

  She tried laughing with him. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Good, now that we have established that, let’s have more stories.”

  “No, Loki. Let me do something else, I beg you. Let me climb to your highest shelf and clear down the cobwebs.”

  “What fun would that be for me?” he asked.

  “Then you tell a story. You have so many. You have lived so long and been involved in dozens of famous adventures.”

  “Hmm,” he said, stroking his bare chin in a theatrical impression of consideration. “Should a master grant a servant’s wish?”

  “Oh, come,” she said, repeating his own words from earlier, “we are more than that.”

  This amused him. Laughter peeled out of him so loudly that Aud found herself laughing too.

  “Very well,” he said finally. “Which story would you like to hear?”

  “Any story.”

  “Would you like to know how I fell out with the Norns?”

  “Yes, I would. I had wondered—”

  “Had you? Then you knew I fell out with them?”

  Aud felt her heart start. Had she revealed too much? Was everything threatened by a few careless words? “I had heard tell along with many other stories about you,” she said smoothly.

  If Loki suspected anything, he gave no indication. “It’s a fine story, Aud. You’ll like it. It happened a few centuries ago. Have you ever seen a giant, Aud?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, they aren’t so fearsome as they sound. Most of them are only seven feet tall, and half of them are women and not frightening at all. But fate says that they will be enemies to the Aesir at Ragnarok, and for that, Odin has them trapped at Jotunheim. They aren’t clever or cunning, so they rarely try to escape. And if they do, there is only one route out: Utgard Bay. They hate water, and Odin often sends his spying ravens over to watch. Yet, occasionally, one slips through. So it was, on this occasion, that Aurgrímnir overcame his fear of drowning and arrived on the shores near the World Tree.

  “Now, Aurgrímnir was just under eight feet tall, brawny and ugly, and very, very shortsighted. He climbed directly up into the World Tree to use it as a lookout. He was so rough and reckless that the tree shook and the Norns, all the way in the roots, believed it was an earthquake. They ran to the nearest opening and Urd peered out. Aurgrímnir slid down the tree to grab her. Skuld and Verda ran back inside, doubtlessly shrieking, while Aurgrímnir dragged Urd to a cave on the bay.

  “By the time Skuld had worked up the courage to go after her sister, Aurgrímnir had fallen in love with Urd.

  “‘Let my sister go, brute!’ she demanded.

  “He squinted at her and smiled. ‘Another beautiful maiden!’ he declared, and lunged at her. She slipped his grasp by inches and ran as fast as she could back to the safety of the World Tree.

  “Poor Skuld and Verda! Without Urd to unpick the cloth, the loom stayed full, no new fates could be spun and woven. Before long, they knew that time would begin to slow down. They were desperate for a solution. Verda ran all the way to Valaskjálf for an audience with Odin. She burst into the great hall, calling, ‘Oh, oh, a giant has stolen away my sister!’

  “I happened to be there on a visit, borrowing a few necessities. Before she found Odin, she found me. She was in such a lather, all flushed and trembling. ‘Verda,’ I said, taking her aside into the shadows of a recess, ‘you seem troubled.’

  “‘I must find Odin,’ she spluttered. ‘A giant has fallen in love with Urd and kidnapped her, and now detains her in a cave on the shores of the bay. Odin must rescue her.’

  “‘Tch,’ I said, ‘Odin neither can nor will rescue her. He’s afraid of giants and cares little for your troubles.’

  “‘But he must rescue her, or time will slow down, fate will become jammed.’

  “‘He will merely tell you and Skuld to work harder. You will have to unpick as well as weave.’

  “A look of horror crossed her face. ‘No, no.’

  “‘You know, Verda, I’m not busy, nor am I afraid of giants.’”

  Aud laughed. “Surely she didn’t accept your offer.”

  “Of course she did. She was desperate. I love desperate people, Aud. They reveal secrets, they grant wishes without prudence, they shed their dignity with delightful haste. I grabbed a few important objects and, within minutes, I had her on Heror’s back with me, heading all the way across Asgard to Utgard Bay.

  “When we arrived I spoke to Skuld and got her version of the story, then told them both to wait at the World Tree for me. I had brought with me women’s clothes and a wig of tawny horsehair. I dressed as one of the Norns and headed for the cave.”

  Aud gasped with amused surprise. “You dressed as a woman?”

  “Yes, and a fine-looking woman at that.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ve never grown a single hair on this chin, my face is as smooth as any wench’s. On the way, I pushed apples down my dress to fill it properly, then I stood outside the cave on the grey shore of the bay. Seagulls cried overhead, riding the wind. I checked that I had everything I needed and began to sing in a woman’s voice. Oh, love has passed me by, I must forever remain alone . . .”

  Aud was astonished at how much his voice sounded like a woman’s. “That’s incredible.”

  “I’m teeming with hidden talents, Aud,” he said with a slow smile. “I can reveal them at any time.”

  “Go on,” she said. “What did the giant do?”

  “I watched the cave from the corner of my eye, dancing to express my sorrow.” Loki leaped to his feet and imitated a sinuous, effeminate dance. Aud burst into loud laughter.

  “I saw his face peering out, watching me. I turned and smiled.” He continued to mime the events, smiling girlishly. “He charged out and grabbed me around the waist and took me to his cave.” Loki sat down again, leaning forward. “Urd cowered in a dark alcove. She looked at me, astonished. I cried out, ‘Sister!’ to alert her to my ruse. She was so frightened, though, that she didn’t speak a word the whole time.

  “The giant put me down near the fire he had built. Fish bones scattered the sandy cave floor and the whole place stank of sweat and old seafood. He peered at me very closely, and said, ‘Are you one of her sisters?’

  “‘Yes,’ I replied, smiling beguilingly at him, ‘but you may only have one of us. I mean to say, you can only have me. Urd is miserable and heartless and her legs are harder to prise apart than the jaws of Fenrir the wolf. Let her go, and let me be your bride.’

  “The giant glanced from me to Urd and back again. ‘I’ll have you both!’ he declared, and started chasing me around the cave.

  “‘No, no!’ I cried, running from him. ‘For I will not share you with my sister. Turn her out and I will gladly surrender myself to you.’

  “Once a
gain he stopped and studied me and Urd in turn. Then, chest puffing up decisively, he said to Urd, ‘Go, then. I’ll have your sister instead.’

  “Urd took a few seconds to understand what was happening. I gestured toward the opening of the cave. ‘Go,’ I said, ‘leave me alone with my prince.’

  “All trembling elbows and knees, she hurried to her feet and scurried out. ‘Good-bye, sister,’ I called from the entrance, watching to see that she disappeared far enough into the distance to be safe. When I turned, Aurgrímnir had lustful, blinking eyes fixed on me.

  “‘Come, my darling,’ he said. ‘Let me undress you.’

  “‘No, no . . . let me undress you,’ I replied, lunging toward him and untying his breeches. I had them down around his ankles in a second. I pushed him onto his backside and stood before him, teasing him by lifting my hem to my ankles, my calves, my knees, my thighs . . . then I paused.

  “‘Keep going,’ he rasped.

  “‘Are you sure?’ I said.

  “He nodded vigorously. I lifted my skirt completely and revealed . . .”

  Aud doubled over with laughter.

  “Aurgrímnir was not expecting what I revealed,” Loki finished. “You remember he was shortsighted. He had to lean closer to peer at it, to make sure he was really seeing it. I whipped the two apples from my dress and pitched one into each of his eyes. And then, while he startled backward, I pulled off my wig and wrapped the long strands around his throat to strangle him.”

  “Did you kill him?” Aud asked.

  Loki shook his head sadly. “No. Some fools from Valaskjálf had alerted Odin to what had passed between Verda and me that morning. He sent Thor, with his big yellow beard and that ridiculous hammer, and he burst in upon us just as the giant’s face was turning blue. He stopped me, bullied the giant into the bay, and demanded that he swim all the way back to Jotunheim and never return, under threat of extinction.

  “But worst of all, Thor turned to me after the giant had swum away, and said, ‘I have sent the Norns back inside the World Tree.’

  “‘What?’ I cried. ‘But they made a bargain with me! They are in my debt.’

  “‘It is a debt my father does not wish you to collect.’ Then he climbed back on his horse and rode off, leaving me flat-chested in my pretty dress on the shores of Utgard Bay.

  “I returned to the World Tree, of course, and wandered inside for the rest of the day. I was aware that centuries could pass without my ever finding the Norns, so I headed home before dark, gnashing my teeth at how unfair it all was. So, Aud, that’s my story.”

  “It’s a very entertaining one,” Aud said. “I like to imagine you in a dress.”

  “Do you?” he asked slyly. “Perhaps I can put one on for you.”

  She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “And you’ve never been tempted to go back and find the Norns? To extract your payment?”

  He leaned his elbow on his knee, rested his face in his palm and tapped his cheek with his long fingers. “No, no. That would be a waste of my time. Eventually somebody will tell me where they are.”

  Aud smiled, careful not to let the faintest shadow of her thoughts color her eyes. “What would you ask of the Norns in payment?”

  Loki gestured around him expansively. “Oh, I could think of a hundred things. It would depend on what presses me as being the most important when I find them. Something wicked, perhaps. Something that would annoy everybody.” He stretched and yawned. “I’m tired of talking. Another story from you, Aud?”

  “Loki, I have no more stories.”

  “Next week, then. Think of some. I’ll let you clear those cobwebs now, if you like.”

  “It would certainly be less tiring,” Aud said, grateful for a break from his unpredictable company.

  “Can I look up your skirt while you’re doing it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “That’s a shame,” he said. “I’ll fetch you a ladder.”

  That afternoon, as Aud trudged over the slope with her new loom and Vidar’s house came into view, she noticed smoke from the chimney. Her pulse quickened. He was home! She hurried her steps, arriving at the door flushed and breathless.

  “Vidar!” she called, dropping her loom by the door.

  “In here,” he replied.

  She followed his voice to her room, nursing a half-formed fantasy of finding him there amongst her blankets, ready to tell her he had found the Midgard woman wanting, that it was Aud he desired all along. It was the shutter on her window that had attracted his attention—he was tightening the frame.

  “Aud, I’m surprised you haven’t been freezing at night with the wind howling through this gap,” he said.

  “I didn’t think it my place to complain,” she answered. Her eyes drank him in greedily while he wasn’t looking. His skillful hands, his long dark hair, his lean muscular back.

  “Of course you can complain if you’re cold or uncomfortable.” He turned and offered her half a smile. It was immediately apparent that some keen sadness troubled him. He looked drawn, his eyes were empty.

  “Did all . . . did all go well in Midgard?” she ventured.

  He sighed and glanced away. “No. Not really.”

  Aud felt hope lift through her chest. Had the Midgard woman rejected him? She tried to keep her relief out of her voice. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you come and sit by the fire. I’ll make you a meal and, if you like, you can tell me what happened.”

  Vidar tested the shutter again. “I suppose I should eat,” he muttered.

  Aud rushed about making fish soup and lighting the candles in their metal brackets, while Vidar concentrated on carving a small piece of wood by the fire. He barely looked at her throughout his meal, and would have returned directly to his carving after they had finished eating had she not said, “Vidar, perhaps you would feel better if you talked about what happened on Midgard?”

  Instead of the indifferent refusal she was expecting, he said, “Perhaps . . .” Then his gaze returned to the fire and he drew his brows together.

  Aud ached. If only his sadness and yearning were for her instead of this plain mortal woman. “I can listen well enough, Vidar,” she said, “if you’d care to speak.”

  He was silent a few moments. Outside, the wind was soft in the trees, the shush of the sea rhythmic behind it. The cabin was filled with the smell of smoke and the herbs Aud had used in the soup. Without meeting her eyes, Vidar spoke softly and slowly: “Aud, if you loved someone as much as the sun loves the moon, would anything keep you apart?”

  Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes as a wordless, primal yearning pressed on her heart. A quick intake of breath prevented the sob.

  “I’m sorry, Aud,” Vidar said, touching her shoulder gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you. How callous of me to forget you’re so far from home and the ones you love.”

  “Far from my son,” she said, the words trembling. “So far that he no longer seems real.”

  “You’ve never told me about him, Aud.”

  “You’ve never asked.”

  He smiled at her, so tenderly and warmly that her heart caught in her throat. In all the long years she had been living with him, he had never been so openly warm. It astonished her more than it delighted her. Her blood pounded.

  “I’m asking now,” he said. “I can listen well, too, Aud, if you’d care to speak.”

  And so she unlocked the story again and found more relief in revealing it to Vidar than to Loki. As the story drew to the point where she should end it, she saw in Vidar’s eyes a well of raw pity. She suddenly felt vulnerable and annoyed. For the Midgard woman, he had the love of the sun for the moon; for Aud, just pity. Vidar already imagined that her long days off were spent standing at the border of Vanaheim and pining for home. Now he must see her even more as a weak, pathetic creature. Was it not loss of dignity enough that she—witch princess of the Vanir—must be reduced to servitude? No wonder he didn’t love her. She had hid
den her spirit, her power. Before she could check herself, she began to speak too freely.

  “Vidar,” she said, leaning closer, conspiratorially. “I still see the Norns.”

  His eyes widened. “You do?”

  Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She should stop. Immediately. Before it went any further, before she revealed too much. “That is where I go,” she said, “on days when you are kind enough to allow me time for myself. I go to the World Tree, and there, in exchange for news about the outside world, they reveal my son to me in an enchanted crystal.” She sat back, immediately regretful. “Please never tell another soul. If I should lead somebody to them . . .”

  “Of course, Aud,” he said quickly. There had been a subtle change in his voice. Instead of speaking to her as one might speak to a child, he spoke to her firmly and warmly. She had revealed too much, but it had worked in her favor.

  “Thank you for listening to my tale,” she said, brushing her hair off her shoulders and stretching her hands out to the fire. “I feel better for telling somebody.”

  Neither spoke for long minutes. The wind howled over the chimney and the fire sputtered. At length, Aud grew impatient for him to offer her a secret in payment. “You’ve been so kind to me, Vidar, but I can be more than a servant to you,” she said. “I can be your companion. We can be friends for each other.”

  Almost imperceptibly, he leaned back. She cursed herself for going too far, but she couldn’t let him go now.

  “As for the answer to your other question,” she continued quickly, trying to keep her tone light, “no matter how much the sun loves the moon, they are separated by miles and miles of stars. They are fixed and cannot reach each other. And they must accept that and get on, as I do. As anyone must when love is made impossible.”

  He stood and stretched his arms over his head, as though he hadn’t heard her. “I need a moment in the fresh air. The smoke stings my eyes.”

  “I’ll wait here by the fire,” she said.

  “No, no. Go to bed. I might look in on Arvak. That stable door sounded loose.” He pulled on a heavy cloak and left.