The Sleeping Army by Francesca Simon

chills as Woden intoned the fateful words. ‘Wretched is the pledge criminal.’
    â€˜Wretched is the pledge criminal,’ they repeated.
    â€˜May Woden hallow this pledge.’
    â€˜May Woden hallow this pledge.’
    â€˜May Thor hallow these runes.’
    â€˜May Thor hallow these runes.’
    â€˜So help me Frey and Njord and the all-powerful Gods.’
    â€˜So help me Frey and Njord and the all-powerful Gods,’ they swore.
    â€˜Will the fates favour us?’ asked Roskva.
    â€˜The seeress said nothing of the future, and it is hidden from me,’ said Woden. ‘You – berserk. Protect them as you would me.’
    Snot grunted and bit his shield. He glared at them.
    â€˜Always stick together,’ whispered Woden. ‘You will be stronger that way. Go now. Go swiftly.’
    Then the grieving Gods drifted off and faded into the shadows. The stone circle was empty. The only sound was a faint rustling of Yggdrasil’s sparse leaves above them.
    Freya was alone with Roskva, Alfi, and Snot. She looked around desperately. Maybe she could make a run for the bridge and … and what? Throw herself over the side?
    They stood together for a moment, in silence.
    â€˜Right … well …’ said Alfi. ‘I guess we’d—’
    â€˜Let’s go,’ said Roskva. ‘Jotunheim is a long, long way from here.’
    â€˜Noooooo!’ wailed Freya. ‘I can’t do this!’
    Snot picked her up and slung her over his back as if she were a sack of wool. She kicked and wailed and wept as they hurried on their way.

4 The River Irving
    â€˜Put me down!’ shrieked Freya. She pounded Snot’s gnarled back and beat his chest with her feet.
    Snot ignored her.
    Freya felt her streaming nose squash into her face as it bang-bang-banged against Snot’s back as he stomped across the withered meadows outside Asgard’s great wall, trailed by Roskva and Alfi. The stench from his matted bear-shirt and cloak was horrible.
    â€˜I said put me down!’ screamed Freya. She tried notto breathe in his stink.
    â€˜Is this how you want your saga to end?’ said Snot fiercely. ‘Crying and mewling? After the sword, or sickness, or old age ends your life, only reputation lives on.’
    â€˜I don’t care about my saga!’ said Freya. She started weeping again. ‘I want to go home.’
    â€˜Well, you can’t and neither can we, so ACCEPT YOUR FATE,’ screamed Roskva. She muttered under her breath to Alfi.
    Freya stopped crying.
    Accept her fate? She was under sentence of death. Wolves? Trolls? Giants? If they didn’t kill her, other monsters would. And if by luck she escaped them, the wilderness would snare her and she’d drown in a river or tumble off a mountain. And even if fate decreed that she survive, what was the chance of finding Idunn and bringing her back to Asgard before nine nights ran out? Nil.
    Strangely enough, Freya felt calmer spelling this out. No one knows their fate, she thought, wiping her eyes. If I only have nine more days to live then I’d better make the best of them.
    â€˜I can walk, you know,’ she said. ‘Put me down.’
    â€˜Then stop whimpering,’ barked Snot, dumping heron the gravelly ground. Freya sat up, rubbing her arm where she’d landed.
    Outside the ghostly ruined citadel of the Gods, the afternoon sun lit up the vast plains. There was no sound except the roar of a tumultuous river. When had she last slept? She couldn’t remember.
    â€˜Are all girls like you now?’ said Roskva, looking down at her with distaste. ‘You’re very soft. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’
    My spirit of adventure is trying a new vegetable, thought Freya. She didn’t dare say it out loud.
    â€˜Don’t give up hope, Freya,’ said Alfi. He smiled at her and helped her to her feet. ‘I’ve done this sort of thing