Freyia, The Girl Who Saved The World

Freyia, the Girl Who Saved the World

When pirates attack her village and abduct her mother, twelve-year-old Freyia sets out on a dangerous journey across wild, unknown lands. Armed with courage, guided by the stories of Norse mythology, and accompanied by the creatures she rescues along the way, she begins a quest that will test everything she believes about herself.

As Freyia travels through forests, mountains, frozen wilderness and hidden kingdoms, she discovers a mysterious gift for healing and finds herself drawn into the world of ancient gods, giants and prophecy. What begins as a desperate mission to save her mother becomes something far greater, as Freyia is pulled into the struggle to prevent Ragnarök and protect the fate of both gods and humans.

Written by Giles Ekins, Freyia, the Girl Who Saved the World is a magical adventure story filled with courage, wonder, Norse gods, fierce companions and a young heroine whose bravery may change the world forever.

Discover Freyia’s journey today.

Excerpt from the book

Hei, Freyia is my name and this is my story.

However, Freyia is not the name I was born with. I have no recollection of what that name might have been.

Nevertheless, this is the story of my life. Of some of my life. The most important aspects of my life.

It is a strange tale, a very extraordinary tale and one that is hard to believe.

It is a story of my village and the people who lived there and what became of them. And how I became entangled in the affairs of the Norse gods and came to be acclaimed queen of a country that did not exist. It was as the Norns dictated, the three Norns (Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld) who spin the threads of our lives and decide our immutable fates.

It is written.

I might have been aged about twelve or thirteen years old when this story began, but I cannot be certain.

I cannot recall exactly how many summer solstices I have witnessed or how many cruel winters I have survived. I know I was born in the Year of the Long Summer and that this year is the Year of the Bitter Winds, but I am not sure how many years there had been between then.

As was the custom of my people, my mother carved a notch on a long birch stick recording every summer solstice that I have lived through. If I had that stick, I would know how old I was.

But that stick, like everything else in the village, in my life, was now smouldering ashes.

All I know for sure is that this story began the day the pirates came in their dragon-prowed long ships to raid and plunder.

As I dived into the water, I knew it was my best chance, my only chance to evade the mounted raider.

I can swim like an eel; I was able to swim before I could walk and have trained myself to hold my breath underwater for a thousand heartbeats. I swiftly swam to the hiding place, an overhang on the bank side, accessible only from the water and well screened by reeds and trailing willow fronds.

I lay still, unmoving, barely daring to breathe. The horseman turned his horse around and rode over to the bank beneath which I lay. The horse panted heavily and shuffled its hooves, and I was convinced that the raider knew where I was. I expected the raider to peer over the edge, to find me, to drag me out kicking and screaming, to carry me off. Into what fate I did not know, but it would not be a good fate; of that I was certain.

I held my breath, blood trickling down my cheeks from the wound on my head as my heart beat wildly, so loud in my ears I feared the raider could hear it. After what seemed an age, the raider moved on, the hooves of the horse flicking dust from the ground over my head and into my eyes.