The Fallen Queen

By Rob Neuteboom

While preparing to fight the giants, Ask must also combat the persuasions of the queen. Can Deonte and Orla keep him grounded, or will the queen succeed in driving a wedge between their friendship and ultimately achieve her nefarious objective of ruling all with Ask at her side?

Ask will sacrifice more than he ever imagined in this thrilling sequel to "The Growing Ax." His life will further change as he undergoes a more profound and unexpected transformation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667884349

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The Fallen Queen

© Rob Neuteboom

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66788-433-2

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66788-434-9

For Tilly and Letty Ro

Chapters

Chapter 1: The Two Minds of Idun

Chapter 2: Scorched Earth

Chapter 3: The Gateway

Chapter 4: The Land of Eir

Chapter 5: Sisters

Chapter 6: Long Live the Queen

Chapter 7: The Handprint in the Cave

Chapter 8: The Elements of Surprise

Chapter 9: Seeking the Truth

Chapter 10: The Long Winter

Chapter 11: The Giant Search

Chapter 12: It Strikes where it doth Love

– Shakespeare

Chapter 13: Gaining Access

Chapter 14: Gathering the Gods

Chapter 15: Bluebells

Chapter 16: Hyrrokkin’s Mistake

Chapter 17: Red’s Despair

Chapter 18: The Thirteenth of Thirteenths

Chapter 19: To Thine Own Self

Chapter 20: An Apple a Day

Chapter 21: Orla Returns

Chapter 22: Preservation

Chapter 23: Recovery

Chapter 24: The Victorious Battle the Queen Lost

Chapter 25: Red’s Tale

Chapter 26: To Rescue Deonte

Chapter 27: The Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 28: With All Expediency

Chapter 29: Blow Me About in Winds! Roast Me in Sulfur!

– Shakespeare

Chapter 30: Burning the Dead

Chapter 31: The Long Journey Home

Chapter 32: Finding Purpose

Loki, ever the troublemaker of the gods, made a pact with an eagle to lure Idun away from her garden. This he did to save his own life, having pierced the eagle with his spear over a talon full of cooked bovine. High above the land, the eagle threatened to drop the trickster to his death. Loki offered the eagle anything if he’d set him safely on the ground.

The eagle said, I hear there are apples with power that can restore my health. That is what I wish.

So shall you have them, Loki promised.

And so, Loki confronted Idun and claimed that more exquisite apples than hers grew wild in the forest. No apple is better than those of the gods, Idun protested. Her apples kept the gods eternally young and ensured their immortal health.

Still, Loki insisted. He described the apples he’d discovered as golden and desirable, so sweet that the body tingled joyfully as the juices electrified the taste buds while simultaneously strengthening muscles. Taken aback, and a mite offended, Idun demanded to see these apples. How has no one ever heard of them before? she challenged.

They are deep within the forest, Loki explained. Before they left, Loki suggested that Idun bring her apples so they might compare them. She kept her apples in an ornate basket woven from golden grasses and decorated with powerful runes.

Idun was skeptical, of course, especially as the journey drew them farther from Asgard and closer to seclusion. Alone in the dark forest with Loki, she began to worry. He rarely gave her a second look. His sudden interest in her and the apples he had never before criticized made her suspicious. But, if there was a chance that her apples could be replaced by magical trees—well, she had to know for sure. What if she was no longer needed? Would she be turned out to serve with the lesser gods, her worth diminished? Others already thought of her as naïve and trivial. She pressed on.

After days of travel, they arrived at a valley in distant Midgard and stopped at the base of a massive pine tree. A giant eagle suddenly descended, a spear lodged in its side. Its feathers were dark and thick, almost like hair. Idun stepped back as its massive wings produced an immense wind, which nearly sent her reeling to the ground. You’ve done well, Loki, the eagle complimented. It snatched one of Idun’s apples and ate as it dislodged the weapon with one of its massive talons. I believe this is yours. Your debt is now paid. The bird tossed the spear to Loki.

What is the meaning of this? Idun demanded. There are no golden apples that grant immortality in this forest, are there? she asked both angrily and shamefully. To be lured away so easily by pride.

There are now, the eagle retorted.

Even Loki knew he’d crossed a line. He lowered his head and wouldn’t look Idun in the eyes.

I am the giant Thjazi transformed into this massive eagle. You will come with me now, Idun, and learn to love me while the gods grow old and die. Thjazi seized Idun in one large talon and her apples in the other and flew off to Jotunheim.

At first, Idun’s disappearance went mostly unnoticed. She spent hours in her garden most days, tending the flowers and singing to her fruit trees. It is said that her voice imbued the apples with their power of youth and immortality. The gods assumed she had retreated to her work and thought nothing out of the usual.

Then, one day, Freyand, feeling rather frail, searched for her sister among the lilies, tulips, and roses. Some weeks had passed, so the untended garden had begun to turn on itself. Thick stems with massive thorns wrapped oppressively around the necks of fragile flowers. The apples on the trees of life had withered to brown, empty sacks, their meat reduced to mush and their potency seeping into the ground below.

In tears, Freyand reported to Odin that Idun was missing. The gods in the great father’s chamber began to panic. Odin immediately called a council. Aging gods and goddesses congregated slowly in the great hall, their joints aching and their minds deteriorating from mortality. Shrinking into his massive throne, Odin realized that if the council didn’t act fast, their flesh would soon wither away, succumbing to the unnaturally long ages they had lived. Thor asked weakly, Where is Loki?

Odin commanded in a voice hardly above a whisper, Find him.

Having realized his error, Loki had avoided everyone since the abduction. However, because he had nowhere else to go, a group of geriatric gods discovered him in his chamber. They insisted he follow them. Although he was not as frail as the others, having eaten an apple just weeks ago, Loki still did not resist. The gods’ sallow faces, wrinkled skin, and hunched backs foreshadowed his own demise if Idun did not return.

Following the typical berating, the council decided Loki would retrieve Idun from Thjazi, given Loki had caused the problem in the first place. Freya, her skin pale and diaphanous and her hair thin and gray, loaned Loki a cloak made of feathers that transformed the person wearing it into a falcon. In this manner, he glided stealthily to Jotunheim, and to the enormous castle of the giant Thjazi. From a perch on a windowsill outside a smoky room, Loki observed Idun hunched over a fire. From time to time, she would open her palm to produce an apple and place it in the basket, even though the giants didn’t need them. In fact, they didn’t even like the apples and ridiculed her for making them. She stared at the fire as if it might offer solace.

Come, Loki called quickly, before a giant found him out.

What’s the use? Idun asked. Everything has eyes in this land. Thjazi will see me leave and come for me. He will kill you.

Loki didn’t like the sound of that, but he knew he must wrest Idun from her captivity, or death would find him anyway. He produced a handful of runes from his pocket. He whispered sacred words over them and blew those words toward Idun. She quickly transformed into a small apple seed that Loki could pluck up in his falcon’s beak.

Despite this trick, Thjazi quickly gave chase, having entered Idun’s chamber shortly after Loki had secreted her away. Once again transformed into a massive eagle, Thjazi soon overcame the fleeing falcon. Loki spun and dove, twisted, and flailed until Asgard was in sight. Thinking himself invincible among a horde of geriatric has-beens, Thjazi followed Loki into the castle grounds. He landed triumphantly next to the tiny falcon. You have something of mine, he bellowed, beating his wings to punctuate this demand. Several of the unsteady gods tumbled to the ground.

Suddenly, a spear found purchase in the eagle’s heart, the same spear that Loki had lodged in its side weeks before, the spear that had caused Loki to barter with the bird for his life. You can have it back, Thor yelled, his usual booming voice rather deflated by age. Thjazi screeched and fell to the ground dead.

Once returned to her human form, Idun worked quickly to produce apples and revive the gods and goddesses to their youth and strength. In her garden, she sang sweetly to the flowers until the stems retreated to their stations and the flowers bloomed beautifully. She placed her hands against the trees of life and bid their fruit to ripen. The desiccated apples plumped, their meat took girth, and their juices pulsed once more with the fuel of immortality. In this way, Idun saved the kingdom of Asgard.

But, in his heart, Odin knew that if ever Idun was lost to them for good, the gods would be doomed. And so, legend has it, apples cure illness and make the body strong. But in Asgard, they preserve eternity.

Chapter 1

The Two Minds of Idun

As far as journeys go, Ask quickly realized, the beginning of this one was particularly anticlimactic. Ask had first cleared a path through the storm with the ax. After taking the first dramatic step north, everyone had crammed into Deonte’s mother’s SUV. Deonte was driving and Orla was in the front passenger seat with the window cracked a couple of inches. Ask sat next to Idun (or was it Freyand?) in the backseat with Heim—whom his mother/aunt insisted on bringing without explanation—between them. Lastly, Babe squished into the open space below the hatchback, which was usually used for groceries and football pads. As the miles passed in silence, Ask was grateful that Heim shielded him from the mother/aunt in whom he was quickly losing trust and even beginning to fear. There was something unnerving in the way she looked at him—malicious, unforgiving, desperate. He forced himself to stare out the window at a landscape erased by snow.

For several hours, Deonte drove into the blindingly white storm. Somehow, he kept the vehicle between the lines to the Canadian border, to a petrol station illuminated by a single streetlight north of Winnipeg, and eventually, to the end of the road, where crossbars blocked travelers from the highway and the accumulating drifts. A sign on the crossbars made visible by red blinking lights warned, Road Closed and in French below it, "Route Barree. Another temporary sign just off the side of the road commanded, Exit here."

Deonte parked the SUV at the Motor Inn and Motel, a drab brick structure below a poorly lit sign that, Ask had no doubt, perpetually read Vacancy. Any hope of a warm shower and bed diminished when Orla announced, We walk from here.

With an odd giggle, Ask’s mother took the lead, or rather his aunt in his mother’s body took the lead, wanting to waste no time. Ask postulated this was so she would be fully restored to her horrific and deadly glory. This way, children, Freyand coaxed. Ask wondered if there was a gingerbread house waiting for them at the end of this trail. No breadcrumbs, however, to show the way home in all this snow.

The group trudged through the snow, waist deep in places where the wind had randomly piled it. The going was slow, and Ask felt fairly miserable. The snow and wind introduced a bitter cold that penetrated to the bone. He would have transformed into the lumberjack warrior made possible through the power of the ax Bjornen, but Orla had cautioned him that such fluctuations of energy might bring the giants, whom they’d narrowly escaped, and she was certain, were following them. Ask experienced a momentary sweep of jealousy as he watched Orla welcome the snow with bare-arms and a jovial expression.

Idun/Freyand paused at an unexpected entrance to a cave. We’ll stop here for now, so the weak may rest. She eyed Ask and Deonte, but not Orla. In fact, Ask realized, Freyand had not looked at Orla once since rising to consciousness within his mother’s body.

This observation was interrupted by Babe. There really isn’t anything to eat in a cave. After looking left and right, he continued. There’s not much to eat anywhere. He scuffed the snow with a hoof.

With surprising compassion, Freyand produced an apple and handed it to Babe. It couldn’t have been Freyand, Ask realized, because Freyand did not produce life; she took it. Until that moment, Ask thought his mother had been pushed entirely out of consciousness by Freyand, but that did not seem to be the case. She was still there, so Ask sighed with relief. Perhaps, until they were separated, Idun could temper Freyand, and keep her dark tendencies in check.

The cave was damp, cold, and dark, as caves are apt to be. It was not elaborately ornamented with stalactites and stalagmites, nor excessively deep with winding tunnels and open caverns. It was, however, sufficient to protect from wind and snow. It also afforded enough space to light a fire. Ask felt less silly about lugging what Orla considered too much gear for their journey when he struck a match and set aflame some dried moss and twigs he gathered into a pile that had been scattered about the cave entrance. The firelight revealed an oblong-shaped corridor about twenty by thirty square feet and ten-feet tall in the center. The craggy walls wept with moisture, much of which had congealed to ice. While Deonte rushed out of the cave on his speed-enhanced Jordans in search of wood to sustain the feeble flame, Ask set a couple of battery-powered lanterns against opposite walls to help brighten the space. Deonte returned with a massive log upon which desiccated branches curled with atrophy. Ask reached for his ax but then stopped short of touching it. You’d better do the honors, he told Deonte, glancing toward the rock ceiling, which was not quite tall enough to accommodate the massive height of Ask’s transformed state. He turned his back for Deonte to retrieve the ax.

As Deonte chopped the log into smaller pieces, Ask silently questioned why Bjornen allowed Deonte to lift him but not his mother or the giants.

For one, a voice whispered in his ear, The ax doesn’t see your friend as a threat. He knows Deonte doesn’t want to take it. Two, you trust your friend. Because of that, the ax does too. Freyand in Idun’s body was standing close, a hand settling on his left shoulder.

Ask shrugged her hand away. You can read minds?

No more or less than you. She smiled, but not the soft, caring smile of his mother, rather a sly and conspiratorial smirk. I could teach you how to hone your skills. To know what others think.

There’s nothing I can or will learn from you. Ask turned his back to her. Still, he could feel those black eyes glaring at and into him.

Once Deonte fed the fire the first couple of logs, the flames swelled, and the corridor began to warm. Ask sat with his back against the wall, keeping several feet from Freyand. Heim circled thrice and then curled into a ball next to him. Ask stroked the dog’s head and neck, digging fingers into his scruff. Heim moaned contentedly. Ask did not understand why Freyand or his mother or both had insisted on bringing Heim, but he was glad they did. He offered a measure of comfort in an otherwise bleak and cold night.

No reason to sluff off, Orla pronounced, nudging Deonte. During the drive, she had told Deonte she would train him.

Deonte had just settled close to the fire and didn’t seem in a mood to get back up. Just tell me what I need to know. With my speed, I’m sure it’ll be no problem.

Funny, said Orla, I recall you almost tipping over when you swung that pike at the giants. You need to learn control and to improve your strength. The energy is in you, too, now, like it is in Ask. You must now wield it to your advantage. For some reason, that statement, the comparison between himself and Deonte, twisted in Ask’s stomach unsettlingly, wiggled around like pride when it encounters jealousy.

Deonte dragged himself to his feet, making a production out of the effort to leave the warmth and comfort of the fire. Orla tossed him a weapon. Deonte shifted it from hand to hand. A sword?

Actually, a giant’s dagger. I wanted to give you something, well, your size. Used to training with Orla, Ask recognized this jab as an attempt to instill some motivation. Knowing Deonte, Ask knew it wouldn’t work. After a few uncontested lunges, an exasperated Orla commanded, Defend yourself.

I’m just not into it right now. The same line Ask had heard Deonte say to his mother time and time again whenever she told him to clean his room, turn off a video game, take out the trash, or just about anything else he didn’t feel like doing at the moment.

Ask smiled. He dug around in the pockets of his parka until he found his cell phone. He had a fairly extensive playlist from several musical genres. Flipping through the list, he paused at Luke Bryan’s One Margarita and hit play. The twangy guitar and Bryan’s repetitive lyrics filled the cave. During the second run-through of the chorus, Deonte squeezed the dagger’s grip and raised the blade. When Orla came at him this time, he blocked her attack and lunged at her, using his speed to magnify his thrust. It was all Orla could do to parry the onslaught of Deonte’s quick, ever-accelerating blows. He finally stopped, dagger point at Orla’s throat.

Wow, she said. This music really does it for you.

Deonte lowered the blade and spat. Hell no. It doesn’t ‘do it for me.’ I hate this country crap.

Orla’s gaze sought Ask for clarification. But then why did it inspire such spirit?

Ask laughed.

Because it pisses me off. He nodded in Ask’s direction. He knows it, too.

You have no taste, Ask teased.

I’m confused. Why would music you hate encourage you to fight harder? Orla asked.

To get this over with, so he’ll turn it off. The business end of the sword was now pointed at Ask. Ask stopped the playlist, which had automatically moved from Luke Bryan to Luke Combs. And why in the hell is every country singer named Luke, Deonte accused.

Overgeneralization, Ask argued. Some are named Tim and George.

If you don’t like this music, what music do you like? Orla inquired.

Just about anything else—rock, rap, even classical is better than country, Deonte said.

What about country rap, Ask offered.

What is wrong with you? Deonte said. Mixing rap with country is like putting cheese on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Well, I like it, Ask said.

Deonte rolled his eyes. You would.

Orla shook her head. Let’s get back to training. She took an offensive stance.

Wait, Deonte interrupted. What kind of music do you like?

Orla didn’t answer right away. After a moment of studying the cave ceiling, she said, I don’t listen to much music. I prefer instrumental, strings and woods, mainly—you know, guitars, violins, violas, that sort of thing.

Okay. That sounds really boring, Deonte said, feigning a yawn. What about music in this century? Do you have a favorite group?"

Well, she answered without missing a beat, I was partial to They Might be Giants.

I see what you did there. Deonte guffawed.

Orla also laughed. Seeing her smile at Deonte caused Ask’s heart to lurch unpleasantly against his chest.

Without another word, Orla began to swing her pike in quick revolutions. Deonte disappeared and reappeared to press his attack.

Ask watched.

I know what you’re feeling. Freyand had sidled up close to Ask.

I doubt it, Ask retorted, turning slightly away from her. Truth be told, it pained him to look at his mother and hear Freyand’s vitriolic voice issuing from someone he’d always known to be gentle and kind.

I’ve watched you, Ask. I’ve been here all along. Just because your mother was, well, in the driver’s seat, doesn’t mean I didn’t see the show. The way you look at that giantess. It isn’t fair she should be cavorting with, well, someone less deserving.

You don’t know anything. Ask shifted uncomfortably.

Perhaps. But I do know quite a bit about our family and its long and noble history. My mother, your grandmother, was one of the high goddesses. She sat at Odin’s table. Your friend’s lineage is, let’s just say, muddy. His father was of the, she pursed her lips, working class. He has no claim on anything that you don’t have the right to first.

Whatever. Ask felt that lurch twist to a bit of a burn in his chest, like the aftertaste of anger when it simmers to resentment. His viewing of the sparring proved less disinterested.

You know, in my day, in the great kingdom of Asgard, gods and goddesses of our station took what we wanted. Everything was ours for the taking. You, nephew, are the chosen champion of Thor’s beloved weapon. You have a destiny. Don’t let others stop you from what you were born to have.

A frightening yet surprisingly tempting thought crossed Ask’s mind—one massive strike of the ax is all it would take. But the thought wasn’t about harming Freyand. He needed to get away from her. He made quickly to stand. A hand took him by the arm. I’m sorry, son. Since Freyand claimed the spear, I’m having a difficult time containing her. I’ve been able to regain control. For now. You mustn’t listen to her. She warps the mind and twists the truth. She will say anything to incite violence and to get her way. Her job is to end things.

Mom? Ask kneeled next to her.

The gold irises of his mother’s eyes veiled once more to black, the pleading voice replaced by a vial sweetness. Think about what I told you.

Ask yelled to Orla, My turn, and reached for the ax strapped to his backpack.

Hold on, Ask. Orla lunged for his hand but not quickly enough. Ax in hand, Ask grew rapidly and completely to his typical energy-enhanced height, slightly taller than the space the cave allowed. In doing so, he banged his head on the shallow rock ceiling. He dropped the ax as rapidly as he had taken it up as a reaction to the impact, not because it hurt—few things caused him pain anymore—but because of instinct. He applied pressure to the back of his skull where the impact should have caused the most damage.

Are you okay? Orla was next to him, peeling his hands from his head, her cool fingers parting strands of hair, seeking delicately for blood or bumps. Her face was near his, her breath mingling with his. A warmth radiated in his chest. He wanted to pull her even closer. This new feeling both excited and scared him. Why had such feelings stirred in him, intensified in the form of a profound desire? Even without turning around, he knew Freyand smiled widely at his thoughts, as they grew more and more intense, more and more carnal. A voice in his mind whispered, She could be yours.

I’m fine, he finally forced himself to say and brushed her hands away.

"I told you