“Then he's misinformed.”
Surt shakes his head. “I believe him, not you.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Do you know Loki personally? If you do, you should know that he's mischievous. Don't you think he could be misleading you to distract you from something? Please tell me that you have at least considered this. You cannot trust what he says!”
Surt nods his head, expressing a noise of agreement. “I know he’s a weasel, but on this, I'm inclined to believe him.” He lifts me to eye level. “I don’t trust what comes out of your mouth.”
“Do you think I’m going to change my story because you’re threatening me?” I flail my arms out to the sides. “Why don’t you capture and question him like you're questioning me? See what he tells you then.”
A strange emotion flickers across his features then is washed away by anger. “Tell me or else.”
“Or else what? Are you not listening to me?”
His hand shifts around me, and somehow those massive fingers clasp onto my quiver still attached to my back. He shakes me lightly, my dangling legs and arms whipping in different directions. I drop my gaze downward, thinking maybe I can abandon my quiver and drop to the ground. The idea is quickly shoved away when I see the distance to the ground. As much as I’ve wished for it all my life, I can’t fly. Before I know it, I’m dangling over an open lava pit. Surt has reclined his head and raised me, dangling me over his horrid mouth.
Shivers rock my body as I gaze down into the fiery pit. Knowing it’s a mouth seems to make it a lot worse than just a bubbling pool of molten rock.
His hand pauses, the heat from his mouth warming my boots to the point that my feet feel like they’re on fire. I retract my legs, pulling my knees to my chest, and hug my arms around them. Nothing I do is going to save me.
My weight pulling against the quiver forces the straps to dig into my underarms and shoulders. Large beads of sweat form on my arms and forehead, but I’m too scared to move to wipe them away. With one wrong move, I would be Surt’s meal, for sure.
The muscles in my arms, abdomen, and legs ache from the pressure of holding them curled against my body. I don't know how long I’ve been dangling here—probably only a few minutes— yet hours seem to have ticked away. Every little movement of the fire giant's hand sends bolts of fear straight into my stomach. If his fingers open or I slip, I will cannonball right into that lava pit.
Eventually, he moves me away, holding me out to look at me again. “Now… are you going to tell me where she is?”
Releasing my legs, I let them dangle awkwardly below, the straps from my quiver cutting into my underarms and causing them to go numb from the lack of circulation. I stare Surt straight in his burning eyes. Maintaining a steely expression is hard, with fear raising the bile in my throat. “As I said, I don't know where she is.”
“But you do know how to call her.”
I huff. “I don't know where you get this information from. Sure, I admit, she came once before when I called her. I was lucky. Somehow, I managed to do it, and she came to us during a battle to help save Asgard. I haven’t found anything to use to call her since then, and if I did, she probably wouldn’t come.”
“Why would you say that?”
“She’s a goddess!” I exclaim. “She probably won’t remember who I am, and if she did, I doubt she would be listening for my call. I've had contact with her for only a couple of hours in the past, and she helped only because she had a hunch that another army was brewing trouble. She requested we stay in contact so we could sort out that battle. The battle is over, and without that threat, we no longer need to keep in contact.”
His facial expression doesn't change.
I groan. “When are you going to believe me?”
In my frustration, I shoot magic at his nose. It screws up, appearing almost like rock folding upon rock. The reaction is minor, but it gives me enough incentive to shoot more magic at probably the most tender part of his body. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the discomfort and giving me hope that this may be working. Maybe my minute amount of magic is doing something.
I consistently send magic bolts at his face and cry, “Put me down!”
Frustration explodes through my body as he ignores me, yet at the same time, it gives me power to increase my magical intensity. I’m happy that my magic works, and I know I’ve stirred up some reaction, at least. The energy seeps from my body, leaving each magic attack weaker than the last, and my arms grow sluggish, causing the throws to become sloppy. I fire my last few bolts of magic until his nose wrinkles and he shakes his head.
His head folds back then shoots forward, releasing an enormous sneeze. Hot scalding breath blasts me, loosing me from his tentative grasp on my quiver. My terror rises, matching my speed as I shoot backward, straight toward the river of lava.
- Chapter Eleven -
* * *
I scream, my body a projectile through Muspelheim’s sulfurous air. Nothing is there to protect me or stop my fall. Surt’s massive hand swipes for me—concern flashing briefly over his face. He narrowly misses, leaving my body careening toward a scorching death. I scream again, flailing my arms and wishing I had wings. I know that’s a useless wish.
This must be it. This is going to be my end—after everything I’ve struggled for.
Surt swipes a dismissive hand at me. He's given up trying to save me even if I am the only one he believes can call Freya.
Then my back slams into something, and I’m yanked upward, away from the glowing river. Twisting, I search for whatever changed my direction. The straps of my quiver dig into my underarms, rubbing a deeper chafe along the front of the shoulders. That’s a pain I’ll gladly put up with, happy to watch the lava river shrink from underneath me as I rise.
The arrows rattle in my quiver as my legs dangle beneath me while I’m dragged through the air. I search again for the thing grasping me, thinking that maybe the lava monster caught me to help Surt.
The air above me is empty. Nothing is pulling on my quiver, saving me from falling to my death.
Shutting my eyes, I thank the nonexistent rescuer and suck in deep breaths, calming my nerves and clearing my other senses. I rise in patches to an almost monotonous beat, and I realize with each rise, I’m hearing the flapping of wings.
“Elan! Thank you.” I breathe the words, keeping my voice soft, not sure how good Surt’s or the lava monster’s hearing is.
Of course I’m going to catch you! I'm not going to let you fall to a fiery death. Her voice was most welcome in my head. I’ve been floating around invisibly since Surt grabbed you. It’s easy now that I don’t have to worry about you giving us away.
My flight continues to rise and dip in time with the flapping of her wings, and I welcome the hot breeze pressing against my face. For these few moments, everything is beautiful, almost perfect. Elan's just rescued me from certain death. Even better, I am safe in the grasp of a friend.
Elan flies across the lava river, leaving dark rocky piles underneath us. Searching the land, I find everything in this realm appears to be made of dark rocks or molten lava. The land is desolate—barren and threatening—the red and black heightening the arid land's nastiness. Nothing nice exists in this place.