The Lost Gods (20 page)

‘That's ridiculous,' said Freya. ‘The Gods wouldn't have been indisposed if you hadn't stolen Idunn in the first place. We almost died because of you.'

Loki made a rueful face.

‘But you didn't. That was not your fate. And it would not have mattered if it were. But let's focus on now. The frost giants are coming. You need me. Big time.'

Freya stared.

‘Oh, you do. My father was a giant. I can talk to them. Make a truce. Bribe them to leave Midgard alone. They know I hate the Gods. Hated,' he corrected himself. ‘They trust me. Meanwhile, I'll really be on your side. And the Gods'. A double agent.'

Freya laughed. ‘Why should I trust you?'

Loki smiled at her with his strange eyes.

‘You're right. Why should you? I could be a triple agent.' His mismatched eyes glistened for a moment. ‘But look at me,' he said, coughing. ‘I'm an old, old, drooling, stinking, arthritic, rheumatic stumbling bone bag. The Gods have something I want. Idunn's apples. I've got something you need: my wiles. I'll help you beat the giants; you'll help me regain my immortality so I can return to Asgard. It's a win/win. Great expression, win/win.'

‘What makes you think the Gods would take you back?'

Loki snorted.

‘Oh, believe me it's much better to have me in Asgard pissing outside the walls than outside pissing in,' he said, wolfing down some brownies and gulping back a smoothie.

Freya flinched again. Was Loki really offering to help?

‘It was you who tried to defame the Gods, wasn't it?' said Freya. ‘All those malicious tweets and horrible stories …'

Loki looked sly. ‘I had to eat,' he said. ‘As you can see. Newspapers, websites – now that's a thing, a website – pay for gossip. When I think we relied on Woden's two ravens for all our news,' he added, shaking his head. ‘And at the moment I am not getting any younger.' He wheezed a barking laugh. ‘Quite the opposite in fact. I can't even turn myself into a fly. Great for eavesdropping, though, being a fly.'

Freya chewed on her sleeve. She could feel her brain whirring, straining to take all this in, trying to understand what he was – and was not – saying.

‘You have Idunn's apples don't you,' said Loki suddenly. ‘Oh, don't deny it, I saw you jump. And I'll bet you're being ever such a good girlie, guarding them, keeping them safe, giving their shiny golden skins a polish every now and then, and never ever being tempted to take a little bitty bite. But why shouldn't
you
be a goddess, Freya? Why shouldn't
you
be immortal?
You're
more heroic than they are.
Bet they never even rewarded you for your services last time.'

Freya bit her lip and said nothing.

Loki looked at her shrewdly. ‘Thought so. Those sons of mares. So typical. The Gods love you when they need you, and then – poof.
Hasta la vista
baby, and on to the next thing.'

Since when did a God say
hasta la vista
? thought Freya. Was this the weirdest conversation she'd ever had?

‘Those ungrateful swines,' murmured Loki.

Loki was right, thought Freya. The Gods
were
ungrateful. They asked for everything, and gave … nothing. Well, not
nothing
, exactly. They'd given life, which, let's face it, was a big gift, but then it was take take take, do this, do that, worship us, sacrifice to us, obey us, praise us, honour us … or else. Wasn't it time the Gods gave
something
back? Or was it time for humans to look after themselves?

‘Just imagine for a moment,' said Loki softly. ‘You and me. Think what we could do
together. Remake the world … haven't you always thought how good things would be … if
you
were in charge?'

‘No,' lied Freya.

Who hadn't dreamt of ruling the world? She'd get rid of hunger, disease, war, beetroot and football. And her enemies, the whole mean girl clique.

Empress Freya. Freya the Immortal. Fabulous Freya.

‘Of course, we can do this another way,' murmured Loki. ‘Don't forget. I'm half giant. But so is my brother Woden. And Thor. The giants have had a terrible press. What makes you think they're so awful, anyway?'

‘Because they're coming to kill us all?' said Freya. She shook her head to shake off her reverie.

Loki considered. ‘Maybe you're no longer the Gods' biggest fan. Maybe they're unworthy of worship now. Maybe we need better gods. We could link up with the frost giants.'

‘What?' said Freya.

‘Just saying. No harm in saying. Once they've got rid of the Gods, you could rule down here, I could rule Asgard … all it would take is one little bite of an apple, Freya …'

Why was she listening to him? She knew
exactly
what happened when a mortal ate one of Idunn's apples. She'd probably regress to being a baby in nappies … forever. Like Clare, stuck in a teenage horror land.

Freya stood up.

‘I've heard enough. Your mouth is full of lies.'

‘Don't be stupid, Freya.'

‘I'm going.'

‘When you change your mind you can find me—' he screeched after her.

But Freya didn't wait to hear. She just wanted to get as far away from him and his weasel words as possible. She ran to the Tube, the harsh wind wet and raw on her face, through the eerily silent snow-smothered Russell Square Gardens. There were no squirrels. No pigeons.
No sparrows.

The birds and animals had fled. There was only snow.

Thor stopped dead doing his signature ‘lightning bolt' gesture as he paraded around the bitter cold Arsenal football pitch after scoring yet another goal. Woden froze while signing autographs on a sleet-soaked red carpet. Freyja paused mid-sip at a champagne reception. Her feet in their six-inch-high gold Manolos wobbled, then she toppled over.

Freya jolted awake, shivering. What a horrible nightmare she was having. Then she realised it wasn't a nightmare.

What was that rumbling noise? It sounded like an explosion. Or an earthquake. There aren't earthquakes in Britain, she thought, as the house began to shake and her bed trembled violently. Every ornament on her chest of drawers oscillated back and forth, back and forth, a few shattering as they hit the floor. Her pictures swayed on the undulating walls as the air crackled around her and car alarms wailed up and down the road. All the street lights went out.

Freya's bed juddered to a halt as she clutched the quivering wooden headboard. Her breath came in gulps. What a time to be alone in the house. Where was her mum? Out. Always out.

A tumult of voices, commanding, insistent, came from below her window. Then the banging and pounding on her front door started up.

‘Freya! Let us in! FREYA!!'

Oh Gods, it was Clare. She'd locked herself out again and had brought back a club-full of losers at 3 am. She tumbled down the stairs to the door.

‘Mum, this is the THIRD time this week you've forgotten your keys,' she shouted through the front door. ‘I think we've just had an earthquake.'

Freya undid the chain and opened the door. Gods and Goddesses pushed through. They looked wild-eyed and panicked as they streamed in, jabbering and clamouring.

‘Where are they? Where is the All-Father? The frost giants have rampaged through Asgard!'
they shouted as they packed into her house, spilling into the sitting room and running up and down the stairs.

Last time she'd seen them they were dying wraiths. Now they were young again, but frantic and frightened.

‘Without Thor and Woden and Freyja we couldn't stop them,' said Njord.

‘We've left 800 Valhalla warriors at the bottom of Bifrost,' panted Thor's wife, Sif. ‘They will hold off the giants as long as they can.'

Last through the door was Heimdall, the watchman of the Gods. He carried the great ivory horn he must have ripped from the British Museum slung round his massive shoulders, the broken chains trailing and clanking behind him. In his right hand he clutched a red fire extinguisher.

‘How did you—' began Freya.

‘I stole my horn back from those thieves,' said Heimdall. ‘Gjall is mine. What a load of
old junk in that hoard. Cracked cauldrons and rusted swords and bits of old boat I wouldn't bury a dwarf in.'

‘They're valuable because they're old,' said Freya.

‘Bah,' snorted the God. ‘Where's the gold? The silver? Though I did find this flame-quenching potion,' he said, brandishing the fire extinguisher. ‘Now
that's
treasure.'

‘Where are Woden and Thor?' shouted Njord. ‘Where is the Goddess of Battle?'

‘It's a long saga,' said Freya.

‘Make it a short one,' said Tyr.

Freya's sitting room looked as if it was about to burst. Gods and Goddesses squashed onto the saggy sofa, perched on the sofa arms, and squished onto every chair in the house. Tyr and Njord sat glaring and cross-legged on the rug. Woden's handsome, armour-clad sons hunched by the doorway; Sif and Frigg and Bragi perched on the bay window sill; Idunn sat in her husband's lap; Heimdall skulked by the fireplace; Freyja's brother Frey slumped on the floor. Weapons cluttered the tables and leaned against the walls.

The front door banged shut. The Gods looked up. Freya saw the hope in their glinting eyes.

Clare strolled in, with mascara running down her face, her tights laddered, one broken-heeled shoe in her hand, and clutching a large bag of greasy chips. She was swaying slightly.

‘Oh cool, a Viking costume party,' she giggled. ‘Kinda boring, everyone just sitting around wearing old clobber. Come on, who wants to dance? Where's the beer?'

‘Not now, Mum,' said Freya.

‘Who is this mortal?' demanded Sif. Her lip curled.

‘My mother,' said Freya, blushing.

‘Your … mother?' said Frigg.

‘This person dishonours us,' said Frey.

‘Speak for yourself, weirdo,' said Clare. ‘Have a chip.' And she danced in place, swaying to music only she could hear.

Should she confess? What did it matter now?

‘She had a bit of an accident,' said Freya. ‘With one of Idunn's apples.'

The Gods fell silent and stared at Clare. An
angry hum filled the room.

Freya cringed. Would they kill her? Enslave them both?

‘Wot?' said Clare. She continued munching.

Idunn, keeper of the apples of youth, went up to Clare and touched her forehead with her cool fingers.

‘Mum,' moaned Freya.

Clare shuddered. The chips dropped from her hand and spilled over the floor. She blinked rapidly, and her body trembled from head to toe. Her suddenly too tight mini skirt ripped.

‘Mum?' said Freya tentatively.

‘Freya,' mumbled Clare. ‘I feel so dizzy.' She looked down at herself. ‘Why am I dressed like this? Why is it so cold? Who are these …'

‘Mum, no time to explain, these are our Gods, the frost giants are coming, we—'

‘And I'm tattooed!' she shrieked. ‘Freya, why do I have a snake tattoo on my wrist?'

‘Mum, sit down and be quiet,' said Freya.
‘Did you hear me? These are our Gods.'

Clare stared at the glowing Immortals. Their tall, bright, unearthly majesty filled the room.

‘No,' she said. ‘No … it can't be.'