Giants of the Frost (6 page)

The book on mythology lay where I had left it. I looked up "Skripi" but didn't find it. Relief. Just a nonsense word that my brain had conjured. I moved to set the book down, glimpsing another one in the pile. A dictionary of Old Norse. My hand picked it up, even though my brain advised otherwise. I flicked through, singing the alphabet song in my head
…Q, R, S—

Skripi. It was there. An Old Norse word meaning "phantom" or "horror." I had never heard a word of Old Norse in my life, I knew that. I also knew I would find a rationalization, but it was too far from my reach as I prepared myself for a week of solitude. I didn't like lurking in this uncertain space of superstition; it made me feel as though I were falling through clouds. Later that day, as the
Jonsok
cruised out of Hvítahofud Fjord, I thought about how fervently I had pressed Magnus for this opportunity to be alone.

The forest behind me beckoned like a dim memory of something unpleasant, and being alone on Othinsey didn't seem such a good idea at all.

[Asgard]

As the trees grew closer and the open spaces of Gammaldal disappeared behind him, Vidar realized he was being followed.

At first he had thought it just the sounds of birds catching worms in the undergrowth. But now the light, almost-inaudible footsteps had become rhythmic, too much like the gait of a hunter. He paused, listened.

Whatever it was, it didn't want him to know it was there. Vidar shivered. The sun was obscured by the branches above him and the afternoon was deepening toward evening. These woods, like all the woods in Asgard, were home to half-magical wights and spirits. Most would do him no harm, but he had crossed a brook, and wherever there was water, there was danger of a draugr. Perhaps one had journeyed downstream from the northern parts, those treacherous icy waters where many had drowned. Or perhaps it was a wolf. Unusual in the mild south of Asgard on the well-used paths of travel and trade, but a lone hunting animal might have skulked its way out of the wild deeps in search of food. Vidar turned and waited, balancing his weight on his feet, utterly silent. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and, without a sound, positioned it on his hunting bow. He strained to hear. The footfalls had quieted. His ears rang softly. The rustle and thud again, hushed but close. He blew a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. The muscles in his arms tensed as he drew the string, poised to shoot the instant his pursuer moved from cover.

A figure stole from the trees, Vidar's fingers uncurled, realizing almost too late that it was friend, not foe. He tilted the bow down.

"Aud!"

The arrow hissed through the air, grazing her thigh.

She called out and fell to her knees, her hand pressed into her skin.

Vidar dropped his bow and hurried to her. Her dark hair was loose and hung over her shoulders, shoes shoved into the pockets of the apron she wore, and her skirts were hoisted to her thighs and tied at her hips, revealing her long pale legs.

"It's nothing," she said, setting her teeth. Blood oozed between her fingers.

"You're bleeding," he replied. He reached for his hunting knife and cut off a length of material from the bottom of his tunic.

She seemed to grow embarrassed about her bare legs, pushing her skirts down. "They make such a noise trailing in the bushes," she muttered.

"Let me see." He forced her fingers aside to inspect the wound. It was only a graze, but he felt sick at the thought that he might have injured her worse, or killed her.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, expert fingers binding the wound tightly. He already knew the answer; since the day she had discovered him in the seeing-water, she had been increasingly curious about where he went and what he did.

Aud wouldn't meet his gaze. "Searching for wild rosemary. For lamb stew."

"Stay closer to home next time," he said, testing the knot and standing up. "Are you well? Do you feel faint?"

"I'm perfectly well." She quickly arranged her skirts. "I'm sorry, Vidar." He went to slide his hunting knife back into his belt, dislodging the pouch he wore around his hips. The contents spilled to the ground: a drinking flask, a whetstone for his knife, and a half-burned Midgard book.

Aud's fingers closed around the book before he could snatch it up. "What's this?"

"Nothing," he said, taking it from her gently but firmly. "An old piece of rubbish from my father's hall."

"It's a book, isn't it?"

"From Midgard," he admitted. A book written in English, Halla's language. He had heard a few words, muffled by the water in Sjáfjord. Years ago he had known the language well; learning the many tongues of Midgard had filled his waiting centuries. But he needed to be fluent. All he had was this one book, saved from the fire at his last visit to Valaskjálf.

"Loki has dozens of those," she said, pulling herself to her feet and testing her weight on her injured leg.

"See? It doesn't hurt at all."

"When did you see Loki's books?"

"Last time we were there together. When we went to find that saddle he stole. He has a whole shelf of them, not all burned like that one. I could go to fetch some for you." Vidar rubbed his chin in thought, his whiskers scratching the callused skin of his palm. Books would be useful, but Loki was unpredictable. His cousin, who lived halfway to Odin's hall, was both part of the Aesir family and a volatile outsider. Vidar couldn't foretell which precarious course his plans might take if he renewed contact with Loki.

"Why are you so interested in Midgard?" Aud said, leaning forward to slip her shoes on. A late glimmer of sun caught her pale cheek and her skin looked very soft.

"It's full of beauty," he said, thinking of Halla.

"It's full of mortals," she countered. "They're exhausting. They move too fast and worry too much."

"They only have short lives to fill." Vidar was achingly aware of how short.

"Do you want to go there?"

"I've been there." He frowned. "A long time ago now."

"And did you like it?"

"Yes."

She shook her head as she straightened. "I don't want to go there. I don't think it's so special." Her dismissiveness irritated him, as though she were maligning Halla herself. "Are you not interested in anywhere other than where you are, Aud?"

Her dark eyes flicked downward and he immediately regretted his words.

"I'm sorry," he said, gently touching her hand. "My mouth moved before my mind." Aud was already turning away. "I've troubled you long enough. I'll head home." He watched her go, guilt sour in his throat. Aud was a princess of the Vanir family, longtime rivals of his own family. She had been sentenced to one thousand years of servitude to the Aesir for a crime she had committed in her own land of Vanaheim. Her high birth was complemented by her seidhr, the women's magic she had been forbidden from using while in service.

For one who had fallen so low, Aud was unshakeable in her acceptance of her lot. Vidar had met her five years ago, on a rare visit to Valaskjálf, where she had just commenced her service in Odin's hall. His father was working her to exhaustion, inventing disgusting tasks to humiliate her, and encouraging the other men to make veiled sexual threats. Stone-faced, she had endured it all. Vidar had taken pity on her and asked his father if he could take her into service. Odin had many servants, Vidar had none, so he agreed. The usual argument had ensued.

"Why must you live so far away in such poor conditions? When will you return to Valaskjálf and live with the rest of us?" Odin had demanded.

"I prefer my simple life. I'm happy living at Gammaldal," Vidar replied. He couldn't live with his cruel, decadent family. He couldn't live in the company of the terrifying bully who was his father. He couldn't live with the million shining objects, the rich meals and the endless revelry. He had packed up Aud and taken her away. Was that the last time he had spoken with Odin? Five years was not such a long time. If he were fortunate, Odin wouldn't summon him again for another fifty.

It had taken Aud three weeks before she relaxed in Vidar's company, before she finally understood that his gentle treatment of her was not the setup for a cruel joke. He never asked what crime she committed, but she had made mention of leaving behind an infant son: Vidar didn't probe too deeply. It was already obvious that she had fallen in love with him, and he had no desire to encourage a mutual intimacy. His heart belonged elsewhere—on the other side of the mists and colored lights of Bifrost. Birds fluttered past overhead, the dappled sunlight warm on their wings. Vidar slid the Midgard book back into his pouch and tried a sentence in English. "Halla, do you remember me?" But of course her name would no longer be Halla. He would have to return to the seeing-water to discover her new name. And he wasn't allowed to ask her outright if she remembered him. The conditions had been quite specific: she would return to Midgard, but he was not to remind her of their shared past until she had fallen in love with him again, and if she didn't fall in love with him, then he had no business interfering in her life. And to woo her, he needed her language.

Vidar ran after Aud, calling her name. He caught her on the near side of the stream.

"Vidar? Is something wrong?" she said as he approached.

"Are you well enough to walk?"

"As you see."

"I need you to go to Loki for me."

Aud nodded, eager to please.

"I need you to borrow Midgard books, in English. Every one he has."

"Of course. I'll go immediately."

"Take care. Go easy on your leg."

She smiled. "I'm perfectly fine, I'll enjoy the walk."

Vidar watched her disappear into the woods, banishing a momentary twinge of guilt. She didn't limp, the wound had been very shallow. He stretched out on the grass and looked up. The sky was washed clean after a week of rain. He felt young, not like a man who had lived more than a thousand years. The light and jolt of love had lain dormant within him for centuries. He'd shaped it into a dull, aching thing to be buried deep and best not remembered. Now she was back he could allow himself to feel it once more. The fantasies unfolded, the memories washed through him. With the aid of Loki's books, Vidar would remember her language in a week or two. Then he could start planning the next step: his return to Midgard.

Through the forest, where only random shafts of light penetrated the gloom, past the steep black cliffs and still fjords, Aud made her way to Loki's house. The last time she had journeyed this way she had been with Vidar, snuggled against his back on Arvak, caught up in such a swirl of longing and sadness that she barely registered the route. The heat of Vidar's body through his soft woollen shirt, the warm tickle of his hair whipped into her face, the addictive rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. She remembered that Loki's house lay to the east after the open fields, where the trees began to close again, and she eventually spied the roof. Loki's house was easily three times as big as Vidar's, but barely a tenth the size of Valaskjálf. It huddled among the crowded trees, whose trunks and branches were overgrown with dark moss. The leaves of many autumns were layered atop the roof and mist hung and swirled low around it. Vines—some dark, some sickly pale—crawled over Loki's house as though it were something organic, something that had grown out of the ground long ago, ancient and elemental. He had no fields of barley or animals for food and clothing as Vidar did. Instead, Loki was a regular visitor at Odin's hall, borrowing some things and stealing others to support his solitary existence. Aud fought through the overhanging branches down the path to the door.

"Loki?" she said, pushing the door open.

Aud found herself standing in a large room; a fire burned on the hearthstones in the center. All around, on every wall up to the ceiling, were overflowing shelves. Midgard things. Books, toys, strange appliances, decorative objects, junk metal, pots and mirrors. She approached a shelf and reached out for a mirror decorated in silver and pearls. It was beautiful. She traced the design with her finger.

"That's mine!"

Aud jumped at the roar from behind her and dropped the mirror, which shattered on the floor. Loki stood near the door, biting his lip with amusement.

"I'm so sorry," she said, crouching to retrieve the fragments.

"Seven years of bad luck. That's what the Midgard mortals say when you break a mirror."

"Seven years isn't such a long time." She handed the pieces to him. "Here."

"I liked this mirror. I'm very disappointed to have lost it." Aud watched him examine the pieces. Loki was a handsome man, with gleaming black hair, unusually light grey eyes and long pale hands. He was tall and thin, and always dressed in fine, dyed clothes. He was wearing a circle of gold around his head.

"I'm very sorry," Aud said again. "You gave me such a fright—"

"Don't blame me!" he shouted, raising his eyebrows in shock. "You shouldn't have picked it up in the first place."

"You'll work it off, of course. Vidar can spare you. A day a week until the end of the year."

"Of course."

He bent to the floor and swept his fingers over the stone, checking for missed fragments. "Why are you here, Aud? Does Vidar want something? It's been a long time since I heard from him. All the wenches at Valaskjálf ask about him."

"He wants books," she replied. "Midgard books to learn English."

"English? He already knows English." His fingers left the floor now and crept up her foot, closing around her ankle. His hands were icy.

"Perhaps he has forgotten it," she said, taking a step back. His hand slipped off.

"You have good ankles, Aud," he said, looking up at her. "I'd like to put one either side of my neck." He lunged forward and she stepped back farther, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He laughed loudly.

"I prefer them where they are."

"Ah, well." He climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. "You've been spoiled by Vidar. If you had stayed at Valaskjálf, they all would have had you by now." He moved close, leaned down to whisper into her ear: "Though I can tell you wouldn't mind if Vidar wanted to feel your ankles." His breath was hot, his voice laden with snide inference.