Giants of the Frost

by Kim Wilkins

“Don’t bend my temper too far, Vidar.”

  The two of them locked eyes for a few moments, then Thor looked away. “I’ll tell Odin you’re coming the day after tomorrow. In the morning.” Thor heaved himself up from the table, cast a glance toward Aud’s door. “Bring her with you, if you like. I’ll entertain her.”

  “Aud stays here, she’s mine to command. Odin gave her to me.”

  Thor leaned close, his beery breath in Vidar’s face. “Tell me you’ve pricked her, brother. Give me something to be proud of.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  His brother laughed, collected his cloak and sword belt. “Yes, I’m leaving. I’m afraid if I stay any longer my balls will shrivel up like yours.” He moved for the door. “Day after tomorrow, Vidar.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  A moment later the door had closed behind him and his footsteps retreated toward the stables. Vidar held his breath until he heard hoofbeats thundering off up the slope. He sank onto the bench and put his head in his hands. What did Odin want? Vidar was glad to have a few days to think things through. In all likelihood, Odin would want to speak to him about his mother. But Gríd’s warnings had stirred fear in him: he had touched Victoria, he had marked her. Odin might have already sensed her. Maybe he intended to confine Vidar and cross to Midgard and . . .

  Vidar shook his head, took a deep breath. He was tired, he was overwrought. There were two nights yet before he had to confront his father. In the meantime, he should look in on Aud.

  “Aud?” he said, cracking her door open. “You can come out. He’s gone.”

  Aud looked up from her sewing and Vidar saw the bruise covering her right cheek.

  “Oh, Aud.” Vidar moved into the room and knelt beside her. “Did Thor do this?”

  “When I wouldn’t tell him when you would return.” She touched the bruise carefully and winced. “It’s very tender.”

  Vidar tucked her hair behind her ear and examined the mark. “What a brave soul he is, beating a bondmaid.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come out by the fire. How long was he here?”

  “He arrived this morning at first light.” She took his hand, not meeting his eye. “What did he want?”

  Vidar tasted the anxiety again. “I’ve been summoned to Valaskjálf. To see my father.”

  “Are you going?”

  “If I don’t go, he’ll come here.” Vidar sighed. “I have no choice. He’s inescapable.”

  Seventeen

  As Aud made her way through the winding passages in the base of the World Tree, she tried to unravel the sense of sadness and dread she was feeling. It wasn’t unusual to feel gloomy and anxious on her way to see the Norns, but normally the negative feelings were tempered by her excitement about seeing Helgi.

  Today, the excitement hadn’t caught her.

  She ducked a spider’s web. A cold breeze from somewhere deep under the earth caressed her hair and face as a dying lover might. She shuddered and pushed on. Last time she had watched him in the crystal, Helgi had been laughing and playing with Aud’s aunt, Thuridh. He had looked happy; he had put his arm around Thuridh’s waist and cuddled her savagely, as a small boy might cuddle his mother. Maybe this memory was the cause of her melancholy. Aud, his real mother, dreaded seeing how little her son missed her, how fiercely he had bonded with someone else.

  Dim light beckoned around the bend ahead. Aud was a few bare yards away from the Norns’ alcove, but she stopped a moment, leaning against the wall. Her lip quivered and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. This was not the life she had dreamed for herself: separated from her child, in love with a man indifferent to her, creeping around this gravelike labyrinth with an ache in her heart deep enough to crack a mountain to pieces.

  She took a breath and pulled herself together. Her heart had to be stronger than any mountain. One day, centuries hence, she would finally see Helgi again. He would be grown, a stranger to her. But he would want to meet her and learn what kind of a woman his mother was. Aud had to be worthy of that meeting: a woman of integrity and wits, not a ruin.

  Verda’s laugh echoed down the passage and Aud looked up. She could hear them chattering softly amongst themselves, and wondered at their lives, whether they had ever longed for a fate of their own. She took to the path once more, rounding the corner a moment later.

  “Good day, sisters,” she said, imbuing her voice with a shred of cheer.

  “Aud! Did you bring me a hair clasp?” Urd said, dropping her thread and approaching.

  “I did. I brought one each for you and Skuld. I had to carve them without Vidar’s help, so . . .” She pulled the two wooden clasps out of her bag and offered them as explanation.

  Urd shrank back almost imperceptibly. “Oh.”

  “Which one do you want?” Aud whispered, leaning forward and indicating the one with the less crooked carving.

  Urd snatched it up. “I’ll have this one. Skuld, there’s another for you. It’s not as pretty as mine.” She shuffled into the back of the alcove and lit a candle.

  Skuld was winding thread onto her distaff. “Put it aside, I’ll look later.” She raised her head and squinted at Aud. “How are you, Aud?”

  “I’m well.”

  “Have you seen or spoken to Loki?”

  “I have both seen and spoken to Loki. I haven’t told him anything about you.”

  “Good. That’s as it should be,” said Verda, tying a knot and dropping her work. “Sit with us. Tell us about outside. How is Vidar?”

  “He’s well. He’s been to see his mother this week, and Thor came to pay us a visit.”

  Much giggling followed this statement and the high color in Urd’s cheeks told Aud that Thor was a favorite of hers.

  “How did you receive that blow to your face?” Verda said.

  Aud touched her bruised cheek. “I fell over,” she said. If all Urd had was imaginings of Thor, it wasn’t for Aud to spoil them.

  They drew her out about Thor and Vidar, but she kept as quiet as possible about Loki, in case they grew afraid and refused to show her Helgi.

  “Sisters,” she said, when they had their fill of gossip, “is it true that Vidar is fated to save his father at Ragnarok?”

  “Yes, yes,” Skuld clucked. “He’s very important to the Aesir.”

  “No wonder Odin worries about him so much,” Verda added.

  “Vidar loved somebody once, a mortal woman . . .”

  Urd indicated the threads all over the floor. “It’s in the past,” she said.

  “Is there anyone for him to love in the future?” Aud asked.

  “Aud!” Skuld snapped. “You aren’t asking us to tell the secrets of the future?”

  “Or the present?” Verda added.

  “You know you are forbidden.”

  “And you know we won’t tell.”

  “Imagine the trouble we’d have if everybody knew everybody else’s business.”

  Aud held up her hands. “I’m sorry. But you know I love him.”

  “He doesn’t love you,” Verda said decisively.

  “Don’t you ask us to make him love you,” Urd said. “We won’t make another deal with you, Aud.”

  Skuld was kinder. “The future is planned but not fixed, Aud. Fate is being made in every moment. It’s more mysterious than even we can find words for. Take heart. Anything could happen.”

  Verda gave Skuld a cautionary glance. “Thank you, sister, that is enough.” She felt in her apron and pulled out the crystal brooch. “Aud? You want to see your boy?”

  “Yes,” Aud said, reaching for the brooch. “Thank you, Verda.”

  “Take your time,” she said, smoothing Aud’s hair kindly. “We have much work to do.”

  Aud settled at their feet in the dim alcove and gazed at the brooch. He was sleeping. What sight was more divine than the face of her sleeping child? She examined him closely. He had changed since last viewing. His cheeks were not so plump, his hair grew tawnier. Over the last year she had grown to realize
that he wasn’t a tiny child anymore, not the little boy she had cuddled in her arms that last day at the apple farm. Still a boy, yes, but a scant five or six years from his change into manhood. Aud felt the world slipping through her fingers. It was already too late. What point was there in nourishing herself on fantasies of an eventual reunion with him? Helgi, her dear tiny child, was already gone. Perhaps it would have been better to let him die that day five years earlier and go on grieving for him in her own land, a free woman.

  But no, she hadn’t saved Helgi for herself. She had saved him precisely so he could grow from boy to man, so he could fall in love and have children of his own one day.

  She gazed at the brooch for a long time, admitting that there were no pleasant feelings associated with watching him. Had it always been so? Perhaps, but seeing him was worth the pain, knowing he was safe and happy. He slept for a while, then Thuridh came and they moved outside to plant some herbs. He ran about with his arms spread, pretending to be a bird. Aud’s father, Mímir, emerged from the hall and Helgi called out to him. Mímir took Helgi in a rough embrace. A bondmaid brought them a meal, which they ate on the sunny grass. After, Mímir gave Helgi a wooden sword and play-fought with him, always letting the small boy win. Aud watched it all, longing and longing to be amongst them.

  Eventually Verda reached down and touched her shoulder. “Aud, it grows late.”

  Aud shook herself out of her reverie. Hours had passed. She would be making her way home in the dark. “Of course,” she said, handing Verda the brooch. “Thank you, Verda.”

  “You seem unhappy today,” Skuld said, eyes narrowed.

  “I am happy enough,” Aud replied. “What good does it do to be unhappy with fate?”

  It was past midnight when Aud returned to Gammaldal, and she was surprised to see Vidar still awake.

  “Vidar?” she said, closing out the cold night behind her. “You are up late.”

  He was carving, something small and fine. He put it aside and rose. “Come and sit by the fire, Aud. I’ve a favor to ask you.”

  She shrugged off her cloak. Even though her blood was warm from the long walk, her face and hands were icy. “I don’t think you need to ask me for favors, Vidar. You can tell me to do whatever you want. I’m your servant.” She followed him to the fire and sat.

  He brought her a cup of ale, waited a few moments until she was settled, then said, “This goes beyond household duties.”

  “So did everything your family ever asked me to do at Valaskjálf.” She gulped down the liquid, caught her breath.

  “You know I’m not like them.”

  “Go on, then. Ask me.”

  “In good time. First, how was your day? Did you see your son?”

  The walk had cleared the leaden sadness from her body. His question dragged it back. “Yes, I did. He looks well, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “I miss him,” she finished on a whisper.

  Vidar let a few seconds pass in silence. The candle in the alcove above her sputtered and died. Then he said, “Aud, you must comfort yourself in knowing that you made it possible for him to live.”

  “I try.” She shook her head—it was dangerous to think too much about the gulf between her situation and what might have been. “I’m often happier when it’s far from my mind,” she said. “Tell me about this favor.”

  He took her hands in his, a solemn expression crossing his face. She tried to still her heart.

  “You won’t like it. But it’s very important, Aud.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I have to go to Valaskjálf tomorrow, to see my father. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m afraid that . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence, cast his eyes down.

  “You’re afraid he knows about Victoria?”

  “Yes. It’s a very small chance, but one I must take seriously.” His eyes were almost black in the firelit room, intense and focused on her. “I can’t let him find her,” he said. “She’s so precious to me.”

  Aud didn’t reveal how much his words hurt her. “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m suspicious of my father. My concern is that he calls me to Valaskjálf under false pretences, that he’ll trap me somehow, stop me from seeing her, and when I can’t help her, he’ll . . . He’ll do something terrible.”

  She felt a wave of tenderness for him. “Is that what happened last time?”

  His eyebrows drew down. “How do you know about last time?”

  “Loki told me. I guessed that Victoria is the same woman.”

  “I can’t tell you anything, Aud. Every twist in this story is secret. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled brightly. “You needn’t apologize to me. I’m your bondmaid, remember?”

  “Aud, you’re my friend,” he said simply.

  “Ah,” she said, “your friend.” It was more affection than he had ever shown her, and yet it gave her no comfort. She wondered if this sudden offer of friendship was calculated to bend her to his will, then cursed herself for seeing plots in the actions of a desperate man. “Go on, Vidar, I’m sorry. Explain to me what you want me to do.”

  Vidar sat back and took a deep breath. He reached down for the carving he had been working on and held it in front of him. “If I don’t return tomorrow evening, I want you to go to Midgard. I’ll leave you my special cloak so Heimdall won’t see you at Bifrost. I want you to find Victoria and tell her that she must leave Odin’s Island and go as far away as she can. She won’t believe you at first, but you have to convince her . . . do whatever it takes.” He handed Aud the carving. “Give her this,” he said, his voice soft, “and tell her I love her.”

  Aud looked down at the carving, an intricate pattern of a wolf among leaves. It was exquisite. Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “Aud, will you do this for me?”

  She raised her head and met his eyes. She wanted to cry, to rage at him, to fling the carving into the fire, to demand if he had given even a second’s consideration to what might happen to her if he didn’t return.

  “I will,” she said hesitantly.

  “Are you sure? You seem doubtful.”

  She shook her head and said more firmly, “No, no doubt. I’ll do it. But I predict you’ll come home tomorrow night. Odin will just want to ask about Gríd.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Vidar stood. The intensity and intimacy evaporated. “Good night, Aud. I’ll speak to you again in the morning.”

  She understood she was being dismissed. She took the carving with her and retired to her room.

  Aud lay for a long time without sleeping, snuggled under the layers of blankets. She could hear Vidar beyond her room, still awake, pacing. Silently, she went to the door and opened it a crack. His back was turned to her, his hands were folded on his head as he stood by the fire and rocked back and forth on his heels. She returned to her bed and reached under her pillow for the carving. In the pale reflected firelight she admired it, wished until it hurt that he had made it for her.

  Vidar woke with a start, a sense of urgency like a handful of sand in his belly. What was wrong?

  Light from the crack under the shutter. Oh, no. He had slept too late. He leaped to his feet and opened the door to peer outside. The sun was just an hour short of midday. He had been expected hours ago.

  There wasn’t time to think. He pulled on his cloak and shoes and hammered on Aud’s door. Why hadn’t she woken him earlier?

  Her bleary face at the doorway told him she had slept no better.

  “Vidar?”

  “I’m late. I have to leave. Immediately.”

  “Take care.”

  “You remember what I asked you last night?”

  Irritation crossed her brow. “Of course.”

  He took her hand in his. Her skin was very soft. “Thank you, Aud. A million times, thank you.” He released her and turned. “I have to go.”

  She didn’t respond as he hurried from the
house.

  Although Vidar was feeling rushed and half-asleep, Arvak was in fine form and thundered down the path to Valaskjálf without protest. Clouds crossed the sky a quarter of a mile from home, and the rain started shortly after. He wondered if Odin were responsible; one of his customary ways to show his displeasure was to fiddle with the weather. It was the last of his great powers, the one that had him mistaken for a god in their glorious years. Now those powers were all fading, as though the very stories that mortal men told had provided the energy to drive them.

  The rain intensified, and soon Vidar was wet right through to his skin. As he drew closer to the coast, the winds strengthened, chilling his damp clothes to ice. He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes as Arvak carried him out of the ring of forest, and he saw Valaskjálf. No sun shone off the silver tiles of the roof, and the gloomy sky seemed to blend with the dark perimeters of the building. The stables were at the rear, away from the ocean wind. Vidar hurriedly handed Arvak over to a stableboy, attempted to straighten his sopping clothes and strode up the path.

  Two massive carved doors, inlaid with silver, opened into the long hall. Vidar stood a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark smoky interior. Stepping across the threshold felt like stepping into the belly of a whale: dark and cavernous and swollen, the smell of sea and blood. Lanterns lined the walls, illuminating the spaces between the beautifully carved beams that held up the roof. Every alcove was filled with lush treasures: carved chests, silverwork, thick furs and richly dyed cloth, and jewel-encrusted weapons. All plundered in battles on Midgard hundreds of years ago and all covered in dust. Vidar’s eyes were drawn upward to the ceiling. The silver tiles gleamed dully in the firelight. Odin’s longship, black wood decorated with crystal and moonstone, was suspended from the roof beams by ropes. Two huge fires warmed the space, one at each end of the hall.

  The long tables and benches were empty, but a group of servants gathered around a cauldron and spit at one end of the hall, hanging a deer’s carcass over the fire. Behind the fire, through a heavy wooden door, was Odin’s chamber. In the other direction the hall narrowed off to a long corridor. It led down into the private rooms of his uncles, aunts, cousins and brothers, where they were sleeping off the previous night’s excesses.