فصل 39

Freya Is Pretty! She Has Cats!

“MOM?” I WAS SO STARTLED I wasn’t sure I’d said it aloud. “Wait…You, Blitzen. Mom?”

Blitzen kicked me in the shin.

Freya continued smiling. “I suppose my son didn’t tell you? He’s quite modest. Blitzen dear, you look very nice, but could you straighten your collar?”

Blitzen did, muttering under his breath, “Been a little busy running for my life.”

“And, dear,” Freya said, “are you sure about the vest?”

“Yes, Mom,” Blitz grumbled, “I’m sure about the vest. Vests are making a comeback.”

“Well, I suppose you know best.” Freya winked at me. “Blitzen is a genius with fabrics and fashion. The other dwarves don’t appreciate his expertise, but I think it’s marvelous. He wants to open his own—”

“Anyway,” Blitzen said, a little too loudly, “we’re on this quest….”

Freya clapped. “I know! It’s very exciting. You’re trying to get to Nidavellir to find out more about the rope Gleipnir. And so, naturally, the World Tree directed you first to me.”

One of her cats clawed at a Persian rug, ripping several thousand dollars of weaving into fluff. I tried not to imagine what the cat could do to me.

“So, Lady Freya,” I said, “can you help us?”

“Of course!” said the goddess. “More importantly, you can help me.”

“Here we go,” said Blitzen.

“Son, be polite. First, Magnus, how are you faring with your sword?”

I missed a beat.

I guess I still didn’t think of the Sword of Summer as mine. I pulled off the pendant and the blade took shape in my hand. In Freya’s presence, it was silent and still like it was playing dead. Maybe it was afraid of cats.

“I haven’t had much time to use it,” I said. “Just got it back from Ran.”

“Yes, I know.” Freya’s nose wrinkled with the slightest hint of distaste. “And you delivered an apple to Utgard-Loki in exchange. Perhaps not the wisest move, but I won’t criticize your choices.”

“You just did,” Blitzen said.

The goddess ignored his comment. “At least you didn’t promise me to Utgard-Loki. Usually when giants make demands, they want apples and my hand in marriage.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “It gets very tiresome.”

I had a hard time looking at Freya without staring. There really wasn’t anything safe to focus on—her eyes, her lips, her belly button. I silently scolded myself, This is Blitzen’s mom! This is my aunt!

I decided to focus on her left eyebrow. There was nothing entrancing about a left eyebrow.

“So anyway,” I said, “I haven’t really killed anything yet with the eyebrow—I mean the sword.”

Freya sat forward. “Killed anything with it? Oh, dear, that’s the least of its powers. Your first task is to befriend the sword. Have you done this?”

I imagined the sword and me sitting side by side in a movie theater, a tub of popcorn between us. I imagined dragging the sword on a leash, taking it for a walk through the park. “How do I befriend a sword?”

“Ah…well, if you have to ask—”

“Look, Aunt Freya,” I said, “couldn’t I just give the sword to you for safekeeping? It’s a Vanir weapon. You’re Frey’s sister. You’ve got a few hundred thousand well-armed, laid-back warriors to guard it from Surt—”

“Oh, no,” she said sadly. “The sword is already in your hands, Magnus. You summoned it from the river. You have laid claim to it. The best we can hope for is that Sumarbrander, the Sword of Summer, will allow you to use it. Keeping it from Surt is your job now, as long as you manage to stay alive.”

“I hate my job.”

Blitz elbowed me. “Don’t say that, kid. You’ll offend the blade.”

I looked down at the gleaming runes on the blade. “I’m sorry, long sharp piece of metal. Did that hurt your feelings? Also, if you allow people to wield you, why would you allow an evil fire giant to do so? Why wouldn’t you want to go back to Frey, or at least his lovely sister here?”

The sword did not reply.

“Magnus,” said the goddess, “this is no jesting matter. The sword is fated to belong to Surt, sooner or later. You know this. The sword cannot escape its destiny any more than you can escape yours.”

I envisioned Loki chuckling as he lounged on the High Seat of Odin. Our choices can alter the details. That’s how we rebel against destiny.

“Besides,” Freya said, “the sword would never allow me to use it. Sumarbrander holds me partially responsible for its loss….It resents me almost as much as it resents Frey.”

Maybe it was my imagination, but the sword seemed to become colder and heavier.

“But it’s Frey’s sword,” I protested.

Blitzen grunted. “It was. I told you, kid, he gave it away for love.”

The calico cat on Freya’s right rolled over and stretched. Its spotted tummy was pretty cute, except for the fact that I kept imagining how many warriors it could comfortably digest.

“When Frey sat on Odin’s throne,” continued the goddess, “he did so for my sake. It was a dark time for me. I was wandering the Nine Worlds, grieving and bereft. Frey hoped that by sitting in the throne, he might find me. Instead, the throne showed him his heart’s desire—a frost giantess, Gerd. He fell madly in love with her.”

I stared at Freya’s eyebrow. Her story wasn’t helping my opinion of my dad.

“He fell in love at first sight…with a frost giantess.”

“Oh, she was beautiful,” Freya said. “Silver to Frey’s gold, cold to his warmth, winter to his summer. You’ve heard that opposites attract? She was his perfect match. But she was a giant. She would never agree to marry a Vanir. Her family would not allow it. Knowing this, Frey fell into despair. Crops stopped growing. Summer lost its warmth. Finally, Frey’s servant and best friend came to ask him what was wrong.”

“Skirnir,” I said. “The dude who got the sword.”

Freya frowned. “Yes. Him.”

Blitzen took a step back, like he was afraid his mom might explode. For the first time, I realized how scary the goddess could look—beautiful, yes, but also terrifying and powerful. I imagined her armed with a shield and spear, riding with the Valkyries. If I saw her on the battlefield, I would run the other direction.

“Skirnir promised he could deliver Gerd within nine days,” said the goddess. “All he required was a small fee for his services—the Sword of Summer. Frey was so love-stricken that he asked no questions. The sword…I can only imagine how it felt when it was betrayed by its master. It allowed Skirnir to wield it, though not happily.”

Freya sighed. “That is why the sword will never allow Frey to use it again. And that is why, at Ragnarok, Frey is fated to die because he does not have his weapon.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Bummer didn’t seem to cover it. I remembered Loki’s warning about sitting on Odin’s throne, looking for my heart’s desire. What would I look for? My mother’s whereabouts. Would I give up a sword to find her? Of course. Would I risk getting killed or even hastening Doomsday? Yes. So maybe I couldn’t judge my father.

Blitz gripped my arm. “Don’t look so glum, kid. I have faith in you.”

Freya’s expression softened. “Yes, Magnus. You will learn to use the sword—and I don’t mean just swinging it like a brute. Once you discover its full abilities, you will be formidable indeed.”

“I don’t suppose it comes with a user’s manual?”

Freya laughed gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you in Folkvanger, Magnus. You would’ve been a good addition to my followers. But Valhalla called you first. It was meant to be.”

I wanted to argue that the Norns, the einherjar, and the captain of the Valkyries didn’t seem to think so.

Thinking about Gunilla made me remember our flight into the World Tree, and Sam and Hearthstone hiding under a veil from a murderous squirrel. “Our friends…we got separated from them on Yggdrasil. Freya, do you know if they made it here safely?”

Freya peered into the distance. “They are not in Folkvanger. I see them…Yes. Wait. Lost them again. Ah!” She winced. “That was a close call, but they’re fine for the moment. A resourceful pair. I sense they will not come here. You must continue on and meet them in Nidavellir. Which brings us to your quest.”

“And how we can help you,” Blitz said.

“Exactly, darling. Your need brought you here. Need speaks strongly when you travel the World Tree. After all, that’s how my poor son found himself being a bondservant to Mimir.”

“We’re not having this discussion again,” Blitz said.

Freya turned over her lovely hands. “Fine. Moving along. As you well know, the dwarves created the rope Gleipnir, which bound Fenris Wolf….”

“Yes, Mom,” Blitz said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone learns that nursery rhyme in kindergarten.”

I squinted at him. “Nursery rhyme?”

“‘Gleipnir, Gleipnir, strong and stout, wrapped the Wolf around the snout.’ Humans don’t learn that one?”

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“At any rate,” said the goddess, “the dwarves will be able to tell you more about how the rope was made, and how it might be replaced.”

“Replaced?” I willed the sword back into pendant form. Even so, hanging around my neck, it seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. “I thought the idea was to keep the rope from getting cut in the first place.”

“Ah…” Freya tapped her lips. “Magnus, I don’t want to discourage you, but I’d say there is a good chance, perhaps a seventy-five percent chance, that even if you keep the sword from Surt, the fire giant will still find a way to free Fenris Wolf. In such a case, you must be prepared with a replacement rope.”

My tongue felt almost as heavy as my sword pendant. “Yeah, that’s not at all discouraging. The last time the Wolf was free, didn’t it take all the gods working together to bind him?”

Freya nodded. “It took three tries and much trickery. Poor Tyr lost his hand. But don’t worry. The Wolf will never fall for the hand-in-the-mouth trick again. If it comes to that, you will have to find another way to bind him.”

I bet Miles out in the People’s Battlefield didn’t have these sorts of problems. I wondered if he’d be interested in trading places for a while, going after Fenris Wolf while I played volleyball. “Freya, can you at least tell us where the Wolf is?”

“On Lyngvi—the Isle of Heather.” The goddess tapped her chin. “Let’s see, today is Thor’s Day the sixteenth.”

“You mean Thursday?”

“That’s what I said. The island will rise on the full moon six days from now, on the twenty-second, which is Woden’s Day.”

“Wednesday?” I asked.

“That’s what I said. So you should have plenty of time to get my earrings before you seek out the Wolf. Unfortunately, the island’s location shifts every year as the branches of Yggdrasil sway in the winds of the void. The dwarves should be able to help you locate it. Blitzen’s father knew the way. Others might as well.”

At the mention of his father, Blitz’s face clouded over. Very carefully, he took the carnation from his vest and tossed it into the hearth fire. “And what do you want, Mother? What’s your part in this?”

“Oh, my needs are simple.” Her fingers fluttered over her golden lace collar. “I want you to commission some earrings to match my necklace Brisingamen. Something nice. Not too flashy, but noticeable. Blitzen, you have excellent taste. I trust you.”

Blitzen glared at the nearest pile of riches, which contained dozens, maybe hundreds of earrings. “You know who I have to talk to in Nidavellir. Only one dwarf has the skill to replace the rope Gleipnir.”

“Yes,” Freya agreed. “Fortunately, he’s also an excellent jeweler, so he will be able to accommodate both our requests.”

“Unfortunately,” said Blitzen, “this particular dwarf wants me dead.”

Freya waved aside his objection. “Oh, he can’t possibly. Not after all this time.”

“Dwarves have very long memories, Mother.”

“Well, generous payment will soften his attitude. I can help with that.” She called across the hall, “Dmitri? I need you!”

From one of the sofa clusters, three guys scrambled to their feet, grabbed their musical instruments, and hustled over. They wore matching Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, and sandals. Their hair was greased back in pompadours. The first guy had a guitar. The second had bongos. The third had a triangle.

The guy with the guitar bowed to Freya. “At your service, my lady!”

Freya gave me a conspiratorial smile, as if she had some wonderful secret to share. “Magnus, meet Dmitri and the Do-Runs, the best band you’ve never heard of. They died in 1963, just as they were about to get their big break. So sad! They valiantly swerved their car off Route One to spare a busload of schoolchildren from a terrible collision. In honor of their selfless deaths, I brought them here to Folkvanger.”

“And we’re very grateful, my lady,” said Dmitri. “Being your house band has been a sweet gig!”

“Dmitri, I need to cry,” she said. “Could you please play the one about my lost husband? I love that song.”

“I hate that song,” Blitzen mumbled under his breath.

The trio hummed. Dmitri strummed a chord.

I whispered to Blitzen, “Why does your mom need to cry?”

He turned toward me and made a finger-down-the-throat gesture. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

Dmitri began to sing:

“Oh, Odur! Od, Od, Odur,

Where is that Odur; where is my love?”

The other two musicians harmonized on the chorus:

“Od wanders far, my Odur is missing,

How odd it is, not to be kissing

My Odur! My sweet Od Odur!”

Triangle.

Bongo solo.

Blitzen whispered, “Her godly husband was an Aesir named Odur, Od for short.”

I wasn’t sure which name was worse.

“He disappeared?” I guessed.

“Two thousand years ago,” Blitzen said. “Freya went looking for him, disappeared herself for almost a century while she searched. She never found him, but that’s why Frey sat in Odin’s chair in the first place—to look for his sister.”

The goddess leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands. She drew a shaky breath. When she looked up again, she was weeping—but her tears were small pellets of red gold. She wept until her hands were full of glittering droplets.

“Oh, Odur!” she sobbed. “Why did you leave me? I miss you still!”

She sniffled and nodded to the musicians. “Thank you, Dmitri. That’s enough.”

Dmitri and his friends bowed. Then the best band I wished I’d never heard of shuffled away.

Freya raised her cupped hands. Out of nowhere, a leather pouch appeared, hovering above her lap. Freya spilled her tears into the bag.

“Here, my son.” Freya passed the pouch to Blitzen. “That should be enough payment if Eitri Junior is at all reasonable.”

Blitzen stared glumly at the pouch of tears. “The only problem is, he’s not.”

“You will succeed!” Freya said. “The fate of my earrings is in your hands!”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Uh, Lady Freya…thanks for the tears and all, but couldn’t you just go to Nidavellir and pick out your own earrings? I mean, isn’t shopping half the fun?”

Blitzen shot me a warning look.

Freya’s blue eyes turned a few degrees colder. Her fingertips traced the filigree of her necklace. “No, Magnus, I can’t just go shopping in Nidavellir. You know what happened when I bought Brisingamen from the dwarves. Do you want that to happen again?”

Actually, I had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn’t wait for an answer.

“Every time I go to Nidavellir, I get myself in trouble,” she said. “It’s not my fault! The dwarves know my weakness for beautiful jewelry. Believe me, it’s much better that I send you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for our evening luau with optional combat. Good-bye, Magnus. Good-bye, my darling Blitzen!”

The floor opened beneath us, and we fell into darkness.