"You're not harmed, Freya?" he asked anxiously.
"No, by the help of this outlander," she said. "Jarl Keith is his name, and he says he came from beyond Niffleheim."
"It's true," I panted. "I came in that flying ship."
I pointed to the beach far below, where my rocket plane rested between boulders. They stared down at it.
"So you outlanders can build flying ships," Frey said wonderingly. "Your civilization must be far different from ours. Odin will wish to question this outlander. We'll take him to Asgard with us."
Odin, chief of the old Norse gods, king of the mythical Aesir? I shook my head and gave up the fight against disbelief.
"Very well," growled Thor reluctantly. "I still think he looks like a Jotun."
Frey brought me the horse of a dead Jotun. By now, the troop that had hurried after Frey and Thor reached us. They were all big, fair-haired men, armored in mail brynjas and helmets, obviously disappointed at missing the fight.
I mounted, unable to lose the dreamlike quality of the experiences. With the troop of horsemen following. I rode beside Freya, Thor and Frey. I heard the clatter of hoofs, the rumble of voices, felt the saddle beneath me, and the motion of the horse. But nothing seemed real. My body grasped the actuality, yet my tired, harried brain refused to accept it. My eyes were so puzzled and shot with blood that Freya looked at me sympathetically.
"You can rest in Asgard. Jarl Keith." she said. "And you have nothing to fear from my people."