The world was comfortable and quiet and warm. He was safe, and everything was entered by the dark . . .
When he opened his eyes once more, he was cold, and he was alone, and the moon was huge and white and high in the sky. More than twice as big as the moon in Midgard, thought Odd, and he wondered if that was because Asgard was closer to the moon, or whether it had its own moon . . .
The bear was gone.
In the pale moonlight Odd could see shapes moving in the water of the pool, and he pulled himself to his feet and limped over to look more closely.
At the water’s edge he crouched down, made a cup from his hand, scooped up water and drank it. The water was icy cold, but as he drank he felt warmed and safe and comfortable.
The figures in the water dissolved and re-formed.
“What do you need to see?” asked a voice from behind Odd.
Odd said nothing.
“You have drunk from my spring,” said the voice.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Odd.
There was silence. Then, “No,” said the voice. It sounded very old, so ancient Odd could not tell if it was a man’s voice or a woman’s. Then the voice said, “Look.”
On the water’s surface he saw reflections. His father, in the winter, playing with him and his mother—a silly game of blindman’s buff that left them all giggling and helpless on the ground . . .
He saw a huge creature, with icicles in its beard and hair like the pattern the frost makes on the leaves and on the ice early in the morning, sitting beside a huge wall, scanning the horizon restlessly.
He saw his mother sitting in a corner of the great hall, sewing up Fat Elfred’s worn jerkin, and her eyes were red with tears.
He saw the cold plains where the Frost Giants live, saw Frost Giants hauling rocks, and feasting on great horned elk, and dancing beneath the moon.
He saw his father, sitting in the woodcutter’s cottage he had so recently left himself. His father had a knife in one hand, a lump of wood in the other. He began to carve, a strange, distant smile on his face. Odd knew that smile . . .
He saw his father as a young man, leaping from the longship into the sea and running up a craggy beach. Odd knew that this was Scotland, that soon his father would meet his mother . . .
He kept watching.
The moonlight was so bright in that place. Odd could see what he needed to. After some time, he pulled out the lump of wood he had found in his father’s hut and his knife, and he began to carve, in smooth, confident strokes, removing everything that wasn’t part of the carving.
He carved until daybreak, when the bear crunched through the trees into the clearing.
It did not ask what Odd had seen in the pool, and Odd did not volunteer anything.
Odd climbed onto the bear’s back. “You’re getting smaller again,” said Odd. It was no longer the huge bear of the previous evening. Now it seemed only slightly bigger than it had been the first time Odd had ridden it. “You’ve shrunk.”
“If you say so,” said the bear.
“Where do the Frost Giants come from?” asked Odd, as they bounded through the forest.
“Jotunheim,” said the bear. “It means giants’ home. It’s across the great river. Mostly they stay on their own side. But they’ve crossed before. One time, one of them wanted the Sun, the Moon and Lady Freya. The time before that, they wanted my hammer, Mjollnir, and the hand of Lady Freya. There was one time they wanted all the treasures of Asgard and Lady Freya . . .”
“They must like Lady Freya a lot,” said Odd.
“They do. She’s very pretty.”
“What’s it like in Jotunheim?” asked Odd.
“Bleak. Treeless. Cold. Desolate. Nothing like it is here. You should ask Loki.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t always one of the Aesir. He was born a Frost Giant. He was the smallest Frost Giant ever. They used to laugh at him. So he left. Saved Odin’s life, on his travels. And he . . .” The bear hesitated and seemed to think twice about whatever he had been going to say, then finished, “. . . he keeps things interesting.” And then the bear said, “Anything that you did last night, anything you saw . . .”
“Yes?”
“The wise man knows when to keep silent. Only the fool tells all he knows.”
The fox and the eagle were waiting beside the remains of the fire. Odd finished what was left of the fish. Then the bear said, “Well? What do we do now?”
Odd said, “Take me to the edge of the forest. You wait for me. I’ll walk alone from there to the gates of Asgard.”
“Why?” asked the fox.
“Because I don’t want the Frost Giants knowing you three are back,” said Odd. “Not yet.”
They set off.
“I could get very used to travelling by bear,” Odd said. But the bear only grunted.
CHAPTER SIX
The Gates of Asgard
Where the forest ended, the bear stopped, and Odd climbed off. He put his crutch beneath his armpit, gripped it hard with his left hand.
“Right,” he said. “Wish me good luck. The blessing of the Gods must count for something.”
“What if you don’t come back?” said the fox.
“Then you’re no worse off now than you were before you met me,” said Odd cheerfully. “Anyway, why shouldn’t I come back?”
“They could eat you,” said the bear.
Odd blinked. “Ah . . . do Frost Giants eat people?”
There was a pause. The fox said, “Occasionally” at the same time as the bear said, “Almost never.”
The fox coughed. “I wouldn’t worry,” it said. “There’s barely any meat on you. You’d scarcely be worth the trouble of eating.” It grinned. This did nothing to make Odd feel any better. He hefted his crutch and began to walk, slowly, laboriously, towards the huge stone wall that surrounded the city of the Gods.
The snow had blown clear of the path, and although the ground was slippery in places, he found the walk was not as hard as he had expected.
Days were longer here in Asgard. The sun was a silver coin that hung in the white sky. Odd pushed himself to keep walking, one step at a time, remembering when he had walked with ease and never thought twice about the miracle of putting one foot in front of the other and pushing the world towards you.
At first, Odd thought that the wall of Asgard was as high as a tall man and that there was a pale statue of a man sitting on a boulder beside it—at least, he imagined it to be a statue. And then he moved slowly closer, and closer, and the wall grew, and the pale statue grew also, until, as the boy got closer still, he had to throw back his head to look at them.
Every step he took towards the gates, towards the huge pale figure on the boulder, he felt the temperature drop.
And then the statue moved, and Odd knew.
The voice tumbled across the plain like an avalanche.
“I’m called Odd,” shouted Odd, and he smiled.
The Frost Giant peered down at him. There were icicles in its eyebrows, and its eyes were the color of lake ice just before it cracks and drops you into freezing water.