Odd and the Frost Giants

And he thought, I can never tell anyone about this, because they won’t believe it. Because even I wouldn’t believe it.

Snow fell from branches as they brushed past and stung his face, but he laughed as they went. The moon rose, pale and huge, and cold, cold, but Odd laughed some more, because his hut was waiting for him, and he was an impossible lord riding a bear, and because he was Odd.

The bear stopped in front of Odd’s hut, and Odd half climbed, half fell from the beast’s back. He pulled himself up with his crutch, and then he said, “Thank you.” He thought the bear nodded its head in the moonlight, but perhaps he imagined it.

There was a crash of wings, and the eagle landed on the snow a few feet from Odd. It tipped its head on one side to stare at Odd with an eye the color of honey. There was nothing but darkness where its other eye should have been.

He walked up to his door. The fox was already waiting there, sitting like a dog. The bear padded up to the hut behind him.

Odd looked from one animal to the other. “What?” he said testily, although it was obvious what they wanted.

And then, “I suppose you had better come in,” he said. He opened the door.

And they came in.

CHAPTER 3

THE NIGHT CONVERSATION

ODD HAD IMAGINED THAT the side of salmon would feed him for a week or more. But bears and foxes and eagles all, he discovered, eat salmon, and he felt that feeding them was the least he could do to thank them for seeing him home. They ate until it was all gone, but only Odd and the eagle seemed satisfied. The fox and the bear both looked like they were still hungry.

“We’ll find more food tomorrow,” said Odd. “Sleep now.”

The animals stared at him. He walked over to the straw mattress and climbed onto it, placing the crutch carefully against the wall, to pull himself up with when he woke. The bed didn’t smell like his father at all, he realized, as he lay down. It just smelled like straw. Odd closed his eyes, and he was asleep.

Dreams of darkness, of flashes, of moments—nothing he could hold on to, nothing that comforted him. And then into the dream came a booming gloomy voice that said, “It wasn’t my fault.”

A higher voice, bitterly amused, said, “Oh, right. I told you not to go pushing that tree down. You just didn’t listen.”

“I was hungry. I could smell the honey. You don’t know what it was like, smelling that honey. It was better than mead. Better than roasted goose.” And then, the gloomy voice, so bass it made Odd’s stomach vibrate, changed its tone. “And you, of all people, don’t need to go blaming anyone else. It’s because of you we’re in this mess.”

“I thought we had a deal. I thought we weren’t going to keep harping on about a trivial little mistake…”

“You call this trivial?”

And then a third voice, high and raw, screeched, “Silence.”

There was silence. Odd rolled over. There was a glow from the fire embers, enough to see the inside of the hut, enough to confirm to Odd that there were not another three people in there with him. It was just him and the fox and the bear and the eagle…

“It’s because of you we’re in this mess.”

Whatever they are, thought Odd, they don’t seem to eat people.

He sat up, leaned against the wall. The bear and the eagle both ignored him. The fox darted him a green-eyed glance.

“You were talking,” said Odd.

The animals looked at Odd and at one another. If they did not actually say “Who? Us?” it was there in their expressions, in the way they held themselves.

“Somebody was talking,” said Odd, “and it wasn’t me. There isn’t anyone else in here. That means it was you lot. And there’s no point in arguing.”

“We weren’t arguing,” said the bear. “Because we can’t talk.” Then it said, “Oops.”

The fox and the eagle glared at the bear, who put a paw over its eyes and looked ashamed of itself.

Odd sighed. “Which one of you wants to explain what’s going on?” he said.

“Nothing’s going on,” said the fox brightly. “Just a few talking animals. Nothing to worry about. Happens every day. We’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

The eagle fixed Odd with its one good eye. Then it turned to the fox. “Tell!”

The fox shifted uncomfortably. “Why me?”

“Oh,” said the bear, “I don’t know. Possibly because it’s all your fault?”

“That’s a bit much,” replied the fox. “Blaming the whole thing on a chap like that. It wasn’t like I set out to do this. It could have happened to any of us.”

“What could?” asked Odd, exasperated. “And why can you talk?”

The bear pushed itself up onto all fours. It made a rumbling noise, then it said, “We can talk because, O mortal child—do not be afraid—beneath these animal disguises we wear…well, not actual disguises, I mean we are actually a bear and a fox and a big bird, which is a rotten sort of thing to happen, but where was I…?”

“Gods!” screeched the eagle.