Freya and the Magic Jewel Read online

  She wasn’t scared of any ugly old troll. At least, she didn’t think she was. Besides, they weren’t chasing anyone. They were only jumping around on that ramp, laughing. Although they were having fun, she got the feeling they were wary of entering the bridge, for some reason. She got to her feet again and continued to move downward. Somehow she must get past them and down to Darkalfheim to rescue her jewel!

  “Excuse me, sorry, excuse me!” she told everyone she bumped. The strong tide of students coming toward her kept her from gaining ground. When she stumbled and fell to her knees again, a boy wearing a turquoise tunic veered her way. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to her feet and propelled her back up the bridge, away from Brising. It was not the way she wanted to go!

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her as he tugged her along. “I’ll help you cross to Asgard. Come on!”

  “Wait! No!” She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than she was. Looking into his face, she saw that he was cute, with shaggy hair the color of hay and eyes the color of violets. “Stop! I lost something on the bridge,” she insisted. “My jewel. I have to go back down for it!”

  But the determined boy didn’t even slow. Unfortunately, they had drawn closer to the frost giant students. Overhearing Freya, Angerboda said nastily, “Oh, boohoo. You’ve lost a jewel? So what? I bet you have plenty more jewels like it.” The girlgiant darted an envious glance at Freya’s necklaces as they ran on. “Really, you Vanir are every bit as greedy as the Aesir! Maybe even more greedy!”

  “You don’t understand . . . ,” Freya told her. She blinked back tears as she stumbled along, every step taking her farther from her precious Brising.

  “Whatever you lost is not worth your life! Fire giants are dangerous,” her would-be, hay-haired boy rescuer told her.

  “I didn’t see any fire giants. Just some barefoot trolls, stomping around back by the entrance!” Freya informed him.

  Hearing this, the boy slowed some, as did most of the students who’d overheard. Looking over their shoulders, they saw that she was indeed correct.

  “Well, that’s lucky!” said Frey. He’d come back for her and brought her pack, which really was lucky. And apparently, he’d heard everything she’d just said, because he added, “About the trolls, I mean. Not that you lost Brising.”

  “Yeah, we’re safe from trolls up here,” said the boy who’d been pulling her along. “They would rather lurk under the bridge than cross it. They’re barefoot, and the bridge is cold!”

  When Frey handed her backpack to her, the violet-eyed boy with the hay-colored hair finally released her hand and helped her shrug it on.

  Suddenly she heard chattering sounds. Ratatosk! The gossipy squirrel was perched only a dozen feet over her head on one of Yggdrasil’s low-hanging branches. Sensing a story, he peppered Freya with questions.

  “You look angry. Aren’t you getting along with the other students? What happened to everybody’s favorite friendly Freya? Are you mad about having to go live with the Aesir in Asgard?” It was as if the pesky rodent could read her mind! Or part of it, anyway.

  “Stop trying to make trouble!” she scolded.

  “Humph! I’m a news reporter. It’s my job to inquire about things. Just like your job is to respect the Aesir,” said Ratatosk. “Especially now that you’re going to school in Asgard!”

  At this her temper flared. “I’m not bowing down to those . . .” She paused, searching for the best insult. But the only thing she could come up with was an embarrassingly childish nickname. “To those doo-doo heads,” she finished. A hush fell over the students who’d been close enough to hear.

  Ratatosk clapped his paws, looking delighted to have riled her. Grinning, he scampered off to tell the world that the Vanir goddess Freya had called the powerful Aesir of Asgard doo-doo heads.

  Freya looked over at the boy who had tried to rescue her. He was frowning at her. Did that mean he was Aesir? If so, she had just insulted him big-time. Oops!

  She opened her mouth to apologize, but Frey spoke up first. “If Brising fell off the bridge, it could be anywhere, Freya. You’ll never find it again. We’ll get you another jewel, though,” he assured her.

  “B-b-but . . . ,” she sputtered. Another jewel would not be the same at all! Hers had become sort of like a beloved friend to her over time. She’d miss it terribly! Besides that, she couldn’t do magic or tell the future without Brising. It had the magic power, not her! Unlike others in Vanaheim, she had no magic of her own. None! This was a secret she had never told anyone—not even her own brother—for fear that doing so might make everyone think less of her.

  Freya didn’t dare tell him now, either. The frost giants and other students would overhear. And who knew what they might do with the information? Try to take advantage of her and her friends now that her powerful jewel was gone? Or maybe try to steal Brising from the dwarfs for their own use!

  The dwarfs who had taken her jewel would see that Brising was rare and beautiful. But what if they figured out it was magic, too, before she could come to its rescue? They’d never return her jewel then. Not willingly, anyway. Somehow, some way, she had to get it back before it was too late!

  By now the hay-haired rescue boy had disappeared into the crowd of students waiting at the top of the bridge. She should have thanked him, even if he was Aesir. She couldn’t go hunt for Brising without apologizing to him first. So when Frey urged her up the bridge, she went with him, hoping to find the boy and then quickly resume her search afterward.

  As she ran higher, her snow boots clomped loudly, as usual. Startled at the sound, other students made way for her and Frey. However, she didn’t see the rescue boy anywhere.

  “WHO THUNDERS ACROSS MY BRIDGE?” demanded a stern voice.

  Freya skidded to a halt at the top end of the bridge, but the oncoming students behind her accidentally pushed her forward. She stumbled to a stop out in front of the crowd, then looked up to find the owner of that stern voice glaring down at her. He must be ten feet tall! Quickly she stepped backward until she blended in with the other kids again, standing next to Frey.

  Dressed in an official-looking uniform, the man who’d yelled at them stood blocking their way, his thick legs planted wide. Only someone this tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular could’ve held such an enormous sword as the one he wielded at his side. Besides that, the biggest musical horn she’d ever seen was slung across his shoulder by a leather strap. Shaped like a ram’s horn, it was made of polished gold, with etched markings decorating its length.

  “Whoa! I wonder what that horn sounds like,” Frey whispered to her.

  “Something loud, I’m guessing,” she whispered back.

  Behind the formidable uniformed man were golden double doors carved with two words:

  Asgard Academy

  “I am Heimdall, the watchman,” the man boomed. “Illustrious security guard of Asgard! Most trusted of Odin’s warriors!” He paused a few seconds, as if to let that impressive news sink in. Then he went on. “I stand here day and night gazing over the worlds and guarding the Bifrost Bridge from intruders.” Coming to the end of that little speech, he eyed the students suspiciously. “State your business. If you have come to cause trouble, BEGONE! Or face the wrath of my noise-toot and hurt-stick!”

  “His horn and sword,” Kvasir translated, though Freya had already guessed that. Heimdall obviously liked kennings, which were made-up hyphenated nicknames for things.

  Before she could stop Frey from drawing attention to their little group of Vanir, he stepped forward. “None of us have come to cause trouble,” he said, motioning toward the entire crowd of students around him. “We’re all from different worlds, invited here by Odin to attend Asgard Academy!”

  “Oh, right. I remember.” Heimdall relaxed and grinned, showing off blinding-gold teeth that matched the shine of the double doors. “Welcome, students! YOU MAY PASS!”

  He started to wave them all through the golden doorway. But then he called out, “Wait!
” and stepped in front of it to bar their way. Stroking the tip of his long beard, he asked gruffly, “Who among you is the girlgoddess Freya?”

  Freya’s pale-blue eyes rounded. Before she could reply, someone gave her a small shove from behind. Looking over her shoulder, she saw it had been Angerboda. Figures. Freya stumbled forward a few steps.

  Heimdall bent low, until they were eye-to-eye. “Freya? Vanir girl?”

  “I am,” she said. Her voice came out as a squeak instead of the strong tone she’d hoped to muster to impress this bossy Aesir guard.

  With his sword, er, hurt-stick, he pointed to a sky-blue side door that had only just appeared. This door stood hovering in the air a few inches above the bridge, supported by nothing at all! There was a single button on it, labeled OFFICE. “You are to go to the principal’s office without delay. Everyone else, proceed straight ahead through the golden portal to the academy.”

  “Huh?” said Freya. Did this summons have something to do with that heart-shaped vision she’d had or with her jewel’s prophecy? Maybe she was about to get some explanations! She gazed at the blue door with new interest, as did everyone else. So far no one had made a move to go through either doorway. Freya leaned to one side to check behind the door and saw that it didn’t seem to lead to another room or building.

  “Why did the principal single out my sister? Is she in trouble?” Frey dared to ask Heimdall. At this, angry sparks flew from the guard’s sword.

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t done anything wrong,” Freya warned her brother in a quiet voice. “Let’s all do what Heimdall says. I’ll be okay.”

  When she stepped forward, Frey tried to follow her. But Heimdall barred his way. “Not you. Only thunder-girl.”

  “Who?” asked Freya.

  “I think it’s a kenning he just now made up for you,” Kvasir told her. “A nickname because of how you clomped up the bridge.”

  Freya’s face warmed in embarrassment at the nickname. But she also felt relieved that Heimdall hadn’t decided to call her something worse, such as clomper-girl!

  As she and everyone else continued to stand there, the guard glowered at them all. “OBEY. ME. NOW!” His voice was so loud that the bridge trembled under its force.

  “It’ll be fine. Really. See you at the academy,” Freya assured Frey, Njord, and Kvasir. The boygods looked uncertain. However, the confident tone she’d taken on must have reassured them a little, because they didn’t try to stop her as she stepped forward.

  There was dead silence as she went up to the guard. When she started to pass him, Heimdall poked the tip of his sword toward her. She ducked, certain he intended to jab her with its sharp tip. Instead he slipped it under the straps of her backpack.

  “Hey!” she protested as he lifted her belongings away.

  “Your backpack will be taken to your pod,” Heimdall informed her.

  She scrunched up her nose, not understanding. “Pod?”

  “Your sleep-room.” He nodded at the sky-blue door. “NOW, MOVE IT! Do not keep the Great and Wonderful Odin waiting!”

  “Odin? He’s the principal?” Freya’s knees wobbled under her as her nerves gave way. But naturally he would be. This school was Odin’s idea, after all. Saying nothing, Heimdall only tapped the toe of one great booted foot impatiently.

  Feeling the eyes of dozens and dozens of students upon her, Freya walked over and pushed the OFFICE button. Immediately she heard music—a harp with the notes sliding upward in a pretty melody. Then the blue door swung open.

  She stepped through it. And suddenly she was falling . . . UP!

  7

  Odin

  TOPSY-TURVY, SKIRTS AND HAIR FLYING, Freya found herself whisked head over heels, up, up, and away through the longest vine slide she’d ever encountered. It was totally fun, with spirals and loop-the-loops galore! Good thing Heimdall had taken her backpack, though, or everything would have spilled out and whooshed around her in here like a tornado.

  Minutes later she shot out of the end of the vine and somersaulted to a sudden stop with hopelessly tangled hair hanging in her face. “Wow! I’ve never fallen up before! Where am I?” she asked herself, breathlessly finger-combing her glittery hair out of the way. “Ymir’s eyeballs!” she whispered in awe once she could see properly. She was straddling one of the highest branches of Yggdrasil like it was a horse! From here she could look down on . . . everything.

  With one hand locked on either side of the branch she’d landed on, Freya struggled to keep from falling off. She could see all three rings and parts of all nine worlds far below, including her own, Vanaheim. Everyone down there was too small to make out, so she couldn’t recognize her friends or even her house from this distance. She could see Bifrost down there too. At its highest end, it looked as if it had been invaded by tiny ants. No, those must be Frey and the other students moving across the bridge and through the double gold doors!

  Such quick, lengthy upward travel as she’d done in so short a time seemed impossible. Still, Odin was the most powerful god in all the worlds. He could probably make practically anything happen.

  Just then two black ravens swooped past, startling Freya into falling off her perch. Next thing she knew, she was tumbling down to land upon another, much larger branch directly below the one she’d been sitting on. Oomph! This lower branch was wider than two houses and worn flat on top by many footsteps. Luckily, it was also covered with a bed of soft ferns that cushioned her landing.

  “Hey, you made me fall!” she scolded the ravens.

  “Cawfully sorry!” one cawled, er, called.

  “That’s becaws we didn’t see you till it was too late,” added the other.

  Cool! She’d never heard birds speak in a way she could actually understand. Their language seemed to be a blend of hers and theirs, the latter of which was basically, well, lots of caws. They flew on, disappearing over a square horizontal platform fifty feet or so away. About as wide as her house in Vanaheim, it rested high above her upon a nest of woven branches.

  Hearing voices coming from atop the platform, Freya stood and made her way along the path that led up to it. The fernway soon turned into a smaller path paved with stones. Ankle-breakers, Heimdall would likely call them, because the uneven stones were jumbled every which way and you had to walk carefully to avoid tripping. It was as if whatever or whoever was at the top of that platform didn’t want visitors.

  Finally Freya reached a ladder and began climbing. She counted ninety-nine rungs before she finally got to the top. Once she stood on the platform, she gasped at its beauty. Gleaming silver branches twined upward from its back and sides, weaving together to form three fancy decorative walls and a partial roof. It looked sort of like a huge and magnificent, but incomplete, birdcage. At the partially covered platform’s far side were two thrones, upon which sat a man and a woman, both wearing crowns.

  “Come!” the man bellowed. His deep, authoritative voice made Freya jump to obey. As she approached, she noticed that the thrones were alive! Their seat backs were made of gnarled ash-wood branches with leaves that were constantly budding out, turning green, then yellow, then bright shades of red and purple, all within a few seconds. After reaching that final color, the leaves would drop off to wither on the floor around the thrones and be blown away by a constant whipping wind.

  The man who’d shouted wore a splendid blue cloak. And the two black ravens that had startled her before now sat on each of his shoulders, while two gray wolves napped at his feet. There was a black patch over one of his eyes. His other eye—a clear, intelligent blue one—was fixed on her.

  This had to be Odin! If she’d had any doubt of this, the runeword carved on the high back of his chair would’ve erased it. It spelled HLIDSKJALF, which everyone knew was the name of his throne.

  “Come, Freya!” he called, motioning her closer. He knew her name? Oh, of course he would. He’d told Heimdall to send her here to his office!

  The platform’s floor was also made of stones,
but these were set evenly and engraved with mysterious runes. She clomped across them to reach Odin.

  On the throne next to his sat a woman with a single long blond braid hanging forward over one shoulder. A spinning wheel stood before her, upon which she was spinning long threads of white wool to form a large, puffy-fluffy bubble that was bobbing in the air above her head. At Freya’s approach, she cut the thread, which caused the entire bubble to drift upward through the open roof. Freya watched it float out into the sky to join other similar objects. Whoa! This woman was spinning real, actual clouds!

  The woman gazed curiously at the necklaces Freya wore, her eyes coming to rest on the broken gold chain that had once held Brising. Freya’s fingers were nervously toying with the chain’s halves, which still dangled from the shoulder straps of her dress. Quickly she tied the chain ends together and let her hands drop to her sides.

  “Velkommen to Valaskjalf,” the woman said finally, a greeting of welcome.

  Wow! This is Valaskjalf? Freya viewed it with new wonder. Rumor had it that from this place Odin observed everything that happened in all nine worlds!

  “I’m Ms. Frigg. I’m coprincipal of Asgard Academy with my husband, Odin,” the woman went on. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Huh? Well, red, I guess,” Freya replied, wondering why she’d asked. Immediately Ms. Frigg reached into a bag beside her throne. She pulled out a ball of red yarn with knitting needles stuck into it and began knitting.

  Odin leaned forward. “You are the girlgoddess Freya, correct?”

  Freya nodded.

  “I hear that you possess a wonderful skill? And can do magic?” His one good eye gazed at her with interest.

  Gulp. This was not her favorite topic at the moment. “All the Vanir can do some kind of magic. I’m not special in that way,” she replied truthfully. The fact was she couldn’t do any magic at all without her jewel, and she’d lost that. She thought it best not to share this information, however, at least not before she found out what he expected of her.