The Sea of Trolls

Chapter Thirty-four THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN QUEEN

The hall of the Mountain Queen was very different from the little room where Jack had recovered, but it was also beautiful—in a huge, Jotun-like way. The walls were of ice, and tall windows let in the blue light surrounding the top of the mountain. Frost-laden air swirled great, white curtains on either side.

Most of the Jotuns were dressed in furs, though a few louts wore only loincloths to show off their bodies. Jack decided long fur cloaks were an excellent fashion. Those lumpy shoulders sprouting orange hair, those wrinkled potbellies and yards and yards of flaky troll flesh were greatly improved by being covered. Even that wouldn’t have concealed the browridges on the males. These were proudly displayed, the bigger the better, and those who had a human kill to their record were tattooed.

Queen Glamdis sat on a golden throne sparkling with diamonds. It had been made by dwarves, Fonn whispered as they waited by the side to be summoned. The queen wore a glittering crown in her orange hair and a long blue dress embroidered with gold. Over this was a bearskin cloak. Her face was much older than Fonn’s, and her features were sharp and hawklike. Jack thought she looked quite noble. He was getting used to trolls.

To one side of the throne was Golden Bristles with Bold Heart on his back. Thorgil sat proudly at the Mountain Queen’s feet. On the other side was arrayed the harem.

Sixteen louts of varying ages were dressed in finery. The oldest sat on a throne only slightly less imposing than that of Queen Glamdis. He was so aged, his browridge had collapsed over his eyes and he propped it up with a Y-shaped stick.

“That’s my father, Bolthorn,” Fonn whispered.

Jack himself was dressed for the occasion in three sets of woolen clothes, one on top of the other, beneath a cloak of marten fur. He was still cold. His boots were made of cow skin with the hair still on to help his feet grip the floor. It was made of polished silver, very bright and beautiful, but as slippery as ice.

“Come forth,” said Queen Glamdis in a harsh voice like Fonn’s. Jack knew it took effort for the Jotuns to speak at all, and they were not capable of making themselves sound sweet. He came forward, as he’d been instructed, and bowed deeply.

“So you’re the one who melted my ice bridge,” said the queen.

Uh-oh, thought Jack.

“You’re a fire wizard,” she declared.

“I’m a bard, Great Queen. I serve the life force.”

“I met another of your kind. He was called Dragon Tongue, and he melted a hole through that wall.” She pointed at a patch of darker ice near a window. “I had it mended, of course, but the scar’s still there.”

“He was trained by Dragon Tongue,” Thorgil piped up.

Be quiet, Jack thought.

“I’ll decide who will or won’t be quiet,” said the queen, and Jack cursed himself for stupidity. He’d forgotten Jotuns could see into his mind. “However, I detect no malice in you,” Glamdis went on. “Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter has told me of your quest, and I’ve agreed to help. I should warn you that the Norns obey no one, not even the gods. I can ask that you be present when they visit. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Great Queen.”

“You don’t have to use that ‘Great Queen’ nonsense with me,” Glamdis snapped. “That’s the sort of thing Frith lives for. I am a great queen, and everyone knows it. You’re still a cub, so you can call me Mother.”

“All right, M-Mother,” said Jack. It sounded strange to use the word for anyone who wasn’t his real mother. “I’m truly grateful that you cured my shoulder and healed Bold Heart.”

“Ah, Bold Heart,” said Glamdis with a gleam in her dark eyes. “There’s a cheeky rascal.” But she didn’t explain what she meant. “And now I bid you all to a celebration of Olaf One-Brow’s life. It shall be as he wished, a feast with music, dancing, and good food. I’m sorry he’s gone to Valhalla, but I know Odin will be glad to see him. He was the finest two-legged deer I ever met.”

Jack’s eyes filled with tears, and even the queen—or Mother, Jack reminded himself—wiped her eyes with the edge of her cloak. Thorgil wept aloud.

Finally they left the throne room and proceeded down long hallways until they got to an inner courtyard. It was huge and round, more like a frozen lake than anything else. It was open to the sky, and booths were set around the edge. Jack smelled roast grouse. He was seated at a small table with Thorgil—the Jotun tables were far too large for them to use. Fonn and Forath kept them company at the side.

For the first time Jack saw troll-children—or cubs, as they were called. They darted in and out among the tables and stole treats when no one was looking. They slid across the ice, collided with one another, and roared challenges that often ended in play fights. There weren’t many of them. Fonn said they grew slowly—ones that appeared to be Jack’s age were actually fifty years old. Fonn herself was not considered old enough to start a harem.

No one seemed to mind that the cubs brought chaos wherever they went. The adults smiled indulgently as the young climbed curtains, overturned chairs, and threw snowballs. At home Jack would have been thrashed for doing far less.

Jack and Thorgil were offered grouse with lingonberry preserves, rabbit stuffed with onions, bear paws (Jack passed on the bear paws), and slices of elk. The Mountain Queen gnawed on an elk haunch all to herself, and both Fonn and Forath tore chunks out of giant salmon. Table manners were no more part of a troll feast than they had been at King Ivar’s party.

“One foot on the floor!” roared a young lout who kept ogling Fonn. “That’s the only rule around here. You have to keep one foot on the floor while you’re eating.”

“He’s trying to impress me by learning human speech,” said Fonn.

There was also bread with fresh butter and honey, spiced apple pudding, grapes from Fonn’s greenhouse, and cheeses that Thorgil said came from a creature called a yak. She said the queen kept a herd of yaks in her barn. Buckets of cider, mead, and beer were passed around. The louts kept trying to lure Thorgil into a drinking contest, but she firmly said no.

“They’ll win. They know it. I’m not going to humiliate myself,” she declared.

When all was eaten and cleared away, the singing and dancing began. The louts shuffled to one end of the lake while the troll-maidens gathered at the other. The louts preened and displayed their browridges because the maidens would decide whom they danced with. Forath and several others provided the music. It was a strange kind of singing without any words Jack could understand. It echoed around the walls and seemed to vibrate in his rib cage. It was so melancholy, Jack felt tears come to his eyes again.

“Is that a dirge?” he asked Fonn.

“Oh, no! That’s a whale-song. Quite cheerful, really. They’re singing about Utgard, our beloved home lost to us forever beyond the sea.”

If that was a happy song, Jack knew he didn’t want to hear a sad one. He had all he could do to keep from bursting into sobs.

“Do you mind if I join the dancers?” Fonn said shyly.

“Of course not,” both Jack and Thorgil cried.

So Fonn trotted over to the line of troll-maidens. First they fanned out over the lake. They approached the louts, who had worked themselves up into a frenzy of display. One by one the maidens selected a partner by clomping him on the shoulder with one heavy hand. The couples spread out onto the ice.

Whump! Slide, slide, slide. Whump! Slide, slide, slide. The troll-maidens led their partners around the lake as Forath and the others wailed and moaned an accompaniment.

“I’m sure Olaf is honored,” Thorgil said, sighing over her cup of cider.

“I had no idea he was so loved,” said Jack.

“Yes, well, neither did Heide, Dotti, and Lotti,” said Thorgil with a trace of a smile.

At the end of the evening, Jack found his way to the queen’s table. He bowed politely and asked, “Are the Norns coming tomorrow?”

“Perhaps. They’ll arrive when it suits them,” said the queen.

“Couldn’t you—you know—hurry them up?” The day of Lucy’s sacrifice loomed in Jack’s mind.

“Nobody hurries Norns.”

“But if they knew how important—”

“Listen, little cub,” Glamdis said kindly. “If they mean you to succeed, their coming early or late will make no difference. All will happen as it was intended.”

“I can’t just sit here and wait!” Jack didn’t mean to be rude—especially to a nine-foot troll-queen—but he was so desperately worried.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to. Fonn can show you around the palace.”

“She doesn’t have to baby-sit me,” Jack muttered.

“One thing I do know,” the queen went on. “To ignore joy while it lasts, in favor of lamenting one’s fate, is a great crime.”

“That’s what Rune told me,” cried Jack.

Glamdis smiled, showing her dainty fangs. “He learned it from me. Now run along, little two-legged deer. Enjoy these hours before the chess game.” And she turned away to munch on the remains of an elk leg—her third, Jack guessed, from the pile of bones around her feet.

Jack spent the next day touring the vast palace of Queen Glamdis. He visited the kitchen, the armory, the harem, and the greenhouse. Fonn’s greenhouse was made of sheets of clear ice. The intense mountain sunlight shone through, and its heat was trapped. The walls inside were slick and wet as water trickled down into the soil, but the outer part stayed frozen. A lout threw water over the outside to ensure that the walls stayed thick.

Jack had never seen grapevines, although he’d seen them painted on the walls of the Roman house. He found other trees that had existed only in his imagination: peaches, apricots, and almonds. All these had been supplied by Olaf from his raids into Italia.

“He said they couldn’t grow on his own farm,” Fonn explained. “He didn’t have a greenhouse. Dragon Tongue taught me how to build one, to make up for melting a hole in the palace wall.”

“Just why did he do that?” Jack asked.

“Oh, there was some argument about Frothi. Frith was still living with us, and Frothi was her full sister. Now, there was a troublemaker if I ever saw one. She caused no end of mayhem at Hrothgar’s hall, and Dragon Tongue had been responsible for her death. Well, if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.” Fonn didn’t seem grieved by the loss of her half sister.

“It seems Olaf visited here a lot,” Jack said delicately. He didn’t want to upset Fonn, but he was consumed with curiosity about the relationship between the Northman and the Mountain Queen.

“Mother was head over heels in love with him,” Fonn said, not the least embarrassed. “She almost never fell for humans, and the behavior of Frith and Frothi taught her how unwise it was to marry one. But Olaf…” The troll-maiden’s eyes became misty. “Olaf was so big and beautiful.”

Jack remembered Heide saying the exact same thing.

“Of course, he didn’t want to live here. He had a family in Middle Earth. He came every other year with presents. He brought me seedlings, and he gave Forath a flute and a carving of a whale. He always knew exactly what would please us.”

“Did he ever give anything to Frith?”

Fonn gave her barking laugh. “No human in his right mind would go near Frith.”

“Do you know how she lost her hair?”

Fonn didn’t. When Jack told her about the sorry events that led up to his trip to Jotunheim, she laughed and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh! Oh! I wish I’d been there to see it! Frith is obsessed with hair. She nagged Mother until she got a full head of it.”

“The queen gave her that hair?”

“Through magic. Frith is a shape-shifter, but when she took human form, her hair was exactly like mine. Mother gave her human hair, which also made it possible for her to keep her human shape more easily. When she lost it, she reverted to being halfway between the worlds. Did she go into a snit?”

“I’ll say,” said Jack. “Northmen were climbing the walls.”

“What a treat! Frith’s snits were famous even here.”

All in all it was a pleasant day. Jack had grown to like the gentle troll-maiden and her silent and melancholy sister. He visited the harem and was made welcome by Bolthorn, Fonn and Forath’s father. He had been Glamdis’ first love, and she still treated him with respect.

Jack couldn’t imagine being part of a harem, but Bolthorn clearly thought himself honored. “She dragged me right off the ice and threw me into her cave,” the ancient Jotun rumbled, fondly remembering their courtship. “I had scratches all over my browridge!” Jack looked away, embarrassed, without exactly knowing why.

He found the louts good company, but their personal hygiene left a lot to be desired. They considered it manly—or whatever the troll equivalent was—to be filthy and to never clean their nails or teeth. Perhaps that’s what attracted Thorgil, and they certainly admired her.

She had turned from a sullen, miserable brat into someone quite likeable. Maybe, Jack thought as he saw her playing Dodge the Spear with a pair of young louts, this was the first time she’d ever been the center of attention. She was tolerated, but not liked, by Olaf’s wives and children. No one was glad to see her except Slasher, Wolf Bane, Hel Hag, and Shreddie, the dogs with whom she’d been raised. This was the first time she’d ever made friends.