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Eir struggled with her words and thoughts, trying to make sense of it all.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Freya returned, gliding onto the patch of grass in her flowing white robes, radiating warmth and light, as if she brought summer with her wherever she went.
“I have a fondness for humans, as you know,” the goddess said. “I wanted to do something for those who possessed the determination and courage to defeat all odds in the pursuit of their dreams.”
She spread her fingers in a graceful sweep, and exotic flowers suddenly sprouted from the ground around her, surrounding her with lush, vibrant color.
“Many kinds of humans attempt to make the journey here,” she continued, not really paying attention to Eir.
“Kings, warlords, greedy men who wish for endless riches or power. But they are never the ones who succeed in opening these gates. They never make it this far.”
Freya turned to Eir, her gaze steady and sympathetic.
“Do you know who finally get to make their wish?”
Eir shook her head slightly, still mostly frozen. But standing on the periphery of the magical garden, she slowly began to thaw.
“Those who are emboldened by True Love,” Freya answered.
The goddess huffed a strange little laugh and wrinkled her nose.
“I do not pretend to understand it,” she said. “We gods do not suffer from this strange, incurable ailment. But…”
She plucked a large bloom from the flowers at her feet and closed her eyes with pleasure as she inhaled its scent.
“It intrigues me. How these frail mortals could find such indestructible strength within themselves for ‘love.’”
“I didn’t know you had the power to grant wishes,” Eir said, her voice raspy but functional.
Freya’s smile turned wistful.
“No one can grant wishes, really,” she shared.
“Iðunn provided the apples. I created the garden. Whether wish trees would grow from the seeds are entirely up to the wishers who plant them. Perhaps we gods can lend some magic in the process, but whether the wish comes to fruition is not within our power to guarantee. Sometimes, wishes come true. Sometimes, they do not.”
Eir released a deep breath, not sure how she felt about this revelation.
“But you won’t know unless you try,” Freya said.
“So, come, Valkyrie. Plant the seeds and see if wish trees will grow from them. You haven’t much time left, after all.”
Aye, Eir could feel it.
Even though the ice castle was wreathed in perpetual darkness except this one source of light, so that it was impossible to tell the time, she knew the sun was setting elsewhere in Midgard.
She stepped onto the patch of grass and poured out the seeds from the pouch Ere had given her. The moment they touched ground, the soil sucked them down. The earth trembled beneath her feet, making Eir step back instinctively.
Before her eyes, one single green stem began to grow. Quickly, it unfurled with branches and leaves, its trunk getting thicker, taller, until it formed a canopy of leaves above Eir and Freya’s heads, casting them in spotted shade.
But where was the magical fruit, Eir wondered, staring up at the leafy branches. There were no apple blossoms that led to apples. The tree seemed arrested in its growth.
Breath held, she looked desperately from one branch to the other, hoping she would find a blossom, the beginnings of a fruit. Even just one.
She only needed one.
And then, she saw it.
