“The condition is this,” continued the giant coolly: “I will let you free if you will bring me, without delay, the apples of everlasting youth—the apples that Idun guards and watches over, locked so closely in the golden casket in the city of Asgard.”
Loke stared. He caught his breath. To give up the apples of life—the fruit by which the gods were kept forever young and strong and beautiful,—that was too great a thing to ask even of Loke, evil as he was.
“There are no such apples,” answered he, trying, as cowards always do, to hide himself behind a lie. “There are no such apples.”
“Very well,” answered the giant, opening a great dungeon door, and thrusting Loke in. “When you are ready to do what I say, you may come out; never until then.” The great dungeon door creaked upon its terrible hinges and Loke was alone, a prisoner, at the mercy of the Frost giant.
Loke howled and beat against the walls of the dungeon.
“Are you ready to do what I asked of you?” asked the Frost giant, opening the great door the next morning.
“There are no such apples,” cried Loke. “On my honor as a god, I swear it!”
The giant made no reply. The heavy door creaked again, and Loke was alone.
“Are you ready to do what I asked of you?” asked the Frost giant, opening the great door the second morning.