dies, sooner or later. There’s no escaping that, so there’s no use worrying about it. No, what you’re really scared of is getting eaten by frogs with teeth and big hairy ears, aren’t you?”
Wren managed a tired smile. “Well, sure. After all, they can hear us coming better than the usual sort.”
“Well, don’t you worry,” Freya said as she felt her heart finally calming in her chest. “If a frog tries to eat you, I’ll be sure to give you some helpful advice.”
“Like what?”
“Like, don’t let it eat you.”
Chapter 5. Ghost town
They rejoined Erik and Arfast at the crossroads just above the lake’s shore, and after a little while on the road Freya felt her clothes and hair drying out, though the stench of rotting plants clung to her. An hour later on the westward road, Freya heard her sister whispering in her sleep. Katja’s ears felt even larger and more pointed than before, and tiny white hairs and red hairs stood up on the young vala’s cheeks and neck and hands.
“She’s getting worse,” Freya called out. “We should stop and rest, and try to break her fever.”
“Hush! Not so loud.” Wren trotted back to them. “There’s no help for your sister here.” She swept her arm out at the bleak yellow hills dusted with snow, which stretched on and on with only the bluish outlines of the mountains in the distance. “And it’s too dangerous to rest in the open, not with the reavers prowling about. They could be anywhere. We need to keep moving, and quietly at that, or we’ll all be dining with the good lord Woden this evening.”
“Well, how far is it to Hengavik now?”
“Not far. Just another hour or so, I think.”
“I don’t remember Hengavik at all,” Freya said. “Is it large? Well-defended?”
“I don’t know. Gudrun took me from my parents when I was tiny, barely walking. And I’ve never left Denveller except to gather herbs.”
“Then how do you know that Hengavik is only an hour away?”
Wren smiled brightly. “Vala’s intuition.”
Two hours later they paused at the crest of a low rise and looked out over a flat plain of grass rippling in the breeze. In the far north Freya saw a great mountain smoking against the pale afternoon sky, and to the south another, smaller volcano squatted at the edge of the world, a thin trail of black rising from its summit to the heavens. But down on the plain lay the town of Hengavik, a man-made warren of hundreds of stone houses and earth houses, most sunken into the plain or clustered back-to-back to form unnatural looking hills at regular intervals along the meandering lanes.
But none of the travelers were looking at the houses or the roads.
In the center of the city there rose an enormous skeleton, a vast sun-bleached ribcage resting at an angle, as though the Allfather himself had hurled a frost giant across Ysland and the demon had speared into the ground head-first, and been left to rot where he fell. There was no sign of limbs, no skull, no shoulder blades or horns or wings or fins to tell what gargantuan beast might have actually died there. Only the ribs remained, partially silhouetted by the late day sun.
“Ever seen anything like that before?” Freya asked.
Erik shook his head.
Wren shook her head and glanced skyward. “Lord, in all our little chats together, especially the ones that were all about you, you might have mentioned this. I’m not saying I deserve to know every little thing about you or me or Ysland, but this seems somewhat important.”
Freya stared at the ribs. They rose as tall as ten or twelve men above the floor of the plain, many times taller than the tallest buildings in Hengavik, which were no larger than Gudrun’s tower. And the ribcage stretched four or five times as long as it was tall from the center of the town down toward its southern edge. She tried to guess how many pigs or sheep or elk or even men might fit in the giant’s belly, but the sheer size of the thing defeated her. It was too large to imagine, too large to believe. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out.
Erik’s hand began to move. “If this was ancient, wouldn’t we have heard of it?”
Freya nodded. “Wren, when you lived in Denveller, did you meet many travelers from Hengavik?”
The girl nodded. “Many, when I was younger. Not so many lately. And none at all in the last year.”
“And you’ve never heard of this… thing?”
The girl shook her head. “I think I would remember if a tinker had mentioned the bones of a giant lying in the center of the town.”
Visions swam through Freya’s imagination, visions of frost giants and white whales and Fenrir, the demon wolf. As a child she’d always thought of the god-king Woden as a man, a man with unfathomable knowledge and power, but a man nonetheless. And the frost giants had merely been taller men, and the demon Fenrir had merely been a large wolf.
But now, as she stared at the otherworldly remains of a creature that must have stood half as tall as a mountain, the ancient stories came alive for her as never before, the universe expanding into a playground for gods and monsters unlike anything she had ever known. And she, and her home, and her life, which had all seemed so solid and real and important just a moment ago, were reduced to snow dust in the maelstrom of eternity.
Freya blinked and glanced at her sweating, wheezing sister sprawled on the back of a dirty white elk, and suddenly the vast universe seemed just as unreal and irrelevant as it had to her as a child, and she was about to tell the others to get moving when Wren whispered, “The old stories are true, aren’t they? All of them. The reavers and Fenrir. Woden and the frost giants. It’s all true.”
“You doubted?” Freya asked quietly as the wind whipped her long blonde hair around her face.
“I’ve spent the last seventeen years alone in a tower with a crazy old woman, and the last several seasons in a deserted village with monsters wandering the countryside.” Wren sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I figured the gods had forgotten about me.”
“But you talk to Woden all the time.”
The girl shrugged. “I guess I needed to talk to someone, and a god makes a good listener. Do you think he minds me talking to him the way I do?”
Freya shook her head. “Well, if he’s a decent god, then I’m sure he appreciates the attention. And if he’s not, then to hell with him.” The huntress nodded at the giant skeleton. “But either way, it looks to me like Woden’s had other things on his mind than you or me, lately. Come on. Let’s go.”
But Erik held up his hand. “Where are the people?” he signed.
Freya looked again at the empty fields and the empty streets, and she listened to the breeze playing softly through the tall yellow grass. “You think the reavers have been here too? The reavers killed all the people?”
“If not the reavers, then whatever that thing was.” Wren nodded at the skeleton.
“Right, well, either way, we need to keep moving.” Freya led Arfast down the gentle slope to the flat plain and together they crossed the fields to the gravelly edge of Hengavik. They paused before entering the town and listened to the utter silence of the stone ruins before them. No voices, no footsteps, no animals, not even the wind. Just the stillness of an empty grave. Using hand signs, Freya told Erik to take Arfast and told Wren to watch their rear. And then, with the tip of her spear leveled at the empty road ahead, she led them into the town.
They walked quietly down the first road, following its gentle curve to the south past empty homes that gaped and stared like skulls at the travelers, just as the ones in Denveller had, only here the cottages were in better repair. Walls were straight and roofs appeared water-tight, and leather curtains flapped in several windows and doorways. Overturned, lost, and broken pots and jugs lay in the road, some completely intact and others smashed into dust that ground beneath their boots as they passed. Freya sniffed in the lanes and she poked her head into doorways to sniff in the shadows, but she smelled nothing at all. No food, no rot, no dung. Time had swept all of Hengavik clean.
Freya moved carefully down the empty lanes, pausing here and there to listen or to sniff, or to bend down and peer at the dust at her feet. But if there were any tracks, she couldn’t recognize them on the gravel roads. And every step they took brought them closer to the great ribcage towering over the town and casting nightmare shadows across the plains by the light of the setting sun.
