L O K I :

WHY I BEGAN THE END

by

Maia Jacomus

For loved ones lost

that their memories last as long

as ancient mythologies

Copyright © 2013 Maia Jacomus

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.  Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.

http://maiajacomus.webs.com

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING

Okay, yes, you’re right. It’s time I told you more about how I came to be strapped down with a serpent leaking venom on my face. I didn’t want to tell you before, because not only did it mean telling a rather long story, but it also means revisiting the deception, anger, and pain of those years. Still, you’re right; you’ve helped me all these years without truly understanding my situation—catching the venom in that bowl, never leaving my side. So I’ll tell you thoroughly and from the very beginning. I owe you at least that much. I’ll start with...Yes. I would have to start with Odin.

------

I’ll never forget the first time I met Odin. I’d heard of him from all over—mostly from my fellow Jotun. He was always called our greatest enemy, as he was the god who slaughtered our earliest ancestor, the first to exist, the giant called Ymir, and so started the archrivalship of Jotun against Aesir, giant against god. And though I held willing kinship with—albeit a scarce few of—the Jotun, I did also greatly admire Odin’s deed. After all, in slaying Ymir, he assembled the world as we know it with the giant’s corpulent leftovers. Far be it from me to deny a man like that his due respect.

I was exploring Midgard that day, at times playing mild pranks on the humans, when I found myself at the world’s axis. I knew it to be so; the trunk of the mighty world tree stretched its ash boughs so high up, that its canopy could not be seen. I’d walked by the stem of Yggdrasil many times before, mostly to look up toward the realm of Asgard, where every Jotun’s enemy lived. However, this time, I was drawn to look down at the ground. A wide hole had been dug open at the base of the trunk, and moans issued from deep within it. Peering inside, I saw a man some distance deep, hanging upside-down by a spear that was pierced through his side, sticking him to the wall. With a wry grin, I asked, “Have the moles finally taken their revenge?”

A light laugh escaped up and out the hole. “Would you give me a hand, lad?”

I reached my arm as far into the hole as I could, and I felt him grasp it.

“Keep a tight hold as I remove the spear,” he instructed.

I added my other hand to the grip as I heard him groan, removing the spear from his side. “Now, give me your other hand, and I’ll pull you up.”

He put his other hand in mine, then I braced my feet against the ground as I rocked back and up to my feet, pulling him halfway out the hole. I grasped under his arms to bring him to the surface in full.

He really wasn’t an impressive figure then. His long white hair and beard were dirty and disheveled, he wore a cloth band over his left eye, and blood poured from his side, staining his ragged clothing.

He laughed slightly as he said, “Thank you.” He struggled to sit himself up against the trunk of the tree.

“Anywhere I can take you?” I asked, looking at his wound.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

I chuckled at the man’s state, which turned to laughter. “What were you doing?”

“It was the only way I could read the runes on Yggdrasil’s roots. They tell knowledge of the Nine Worlds.”

“Huh! And your eye?”

“I had to sacrifice it in order to drink from Mimir, the fountain of hidden wisdom.”

“So...what do you do if you need to ask for directions? You cut off a toe?”

He shook his finger. “Laugh if you will, but it’s all worth it.”

“I will at least admit that of all the people in the world who seek knowledge, you don’t settle for halfway.” I put out my hand. “I’m Loki.”

He shook my hand and said, “I am Odin.”

At the moment our hands struck, something seemed also to strike at our minds. When I looked at our hands, they were dripping with blood. But as I blinked, there was no blood—it was only an illusion. The look in his eye suggested he saw something similar.

His grey eye flicked up to lock on mine. “Jotun.”

“Aesir.”

We parted then. I didn’t see him again for some weeks. I knew I would see him again, though; that connection we had, however strange, would bring us together again. I spent some time in Jotunheim and visited my friend Angerboda. I had gone to her run-down house and told her how I’d met Odin. She quickly locked up the door and sat me down at her table.

“You met the Aesir’s leader Odin?” she asked. She eagerly sifted her hands through her stiff black hair, as she often did when she was formulating a scheme. “He who has the knowledge from Mimir and Yggdrasil roots?” She cackled with delight and stoked the fire. “Loki, you are even more clever than you are renowned to be! Can you see the advantage of partnering with such a figure?”

“I’d much rather partner with your figure,” I quipped with a grin.

She smiled. “All in time, sir.” She sprinkled some herbs into the pot of boiling water, inhaling their scent deeply. “Loki, this sign you told me of, with your hands...”

“It wasn’t a sign,” I sighed. She always tried to define fate by the shape of the moon, the patterns of mushroom growth, and the bated breath of a predatory cat. It was extremely irritating. I can’t remember how many times she prophesied I would mate with a horse. Yes, it was as ridiculous as it sounds. She would hear the harmony of a wolf call, or would trace the design of a snowflake, go into a “trance”, and say, “Loki, you will mate with a stallion.” I would often retort with, “As long as it’s a gelding; I don’t have child-bearing hips,” and then I would leave and not visit her again for months. I had an inkling that my bloody hand was leading to the same thing.

“It was a sign,” she insisted, “a very profound one.”

I rose to my feet with a roll of my eyes. “Fine. Come to think of it, I saw a stallion while coming up the mountain. I’ll just hop on down and let him have his way with me.”

“Not that, Loki. Sit.”

I shrugged and sat back down. “Just as my long-awaited destiny is about to be realized...I suppose I can wait if he can. So, Angerboda, sere of seers, what does my bloody hand signify?”

She waved her hands furiously over the pot, causing the water inside to stir. “It signifies a very strong bond, Sly One.”

“...So you’re saying Odin’s the stallion?”

She rounded on me. “Forget the stallion!”

“Gladly!”

With one hand, she pulled me to my feet and shoved me over to the pot. “Look in there, Dagger Tongue, and tell me what you see.”

Only a morbid curiosity drove me to peer into the swirling water of the pot, heat rising to bead sweat on my face. I saw two hands, though not who they belonged to. They were slashed through the palms with a dagger, then they clasped together, coming to the exact image I had seen shaking Odin’s hand.

Angerboda’s eyes grew wide with greed. “Do you know what this means? You will walk with the Aesir. You will learn all their power, and add it to what you already possess. You will be able to do vengeance for the Jotun, at last!”

I could hardly speak, I was so shocked. All I could say was, “I hope you’re wrong, witch dear.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re right about this, then I probably also have to mate with a stallion.”

She slapped me across the back of my head, something I’d grown so used to, that I barely felt it. I made a point of not visiting her for awhile.

The next time I saw Odin, I had been trolling Midgard, searching for which alehouse was the best. This meant that I stopped at every alehouse in sight and drank the place dry. The third alehouse, whichever it was, was always the best, because after drinking so much, it was the only one I remembered. Then, as tradition followed, the bartender would have his bouncers throw me out, causing me to roll down the hill and into a thicket.

It was in just such a thicket with just such a hangover that I woke to the sound of voices nearby.

“For such a thick wood,” said one, “there is not much around to eat.”

“Let’s go back east,” said another, “I think I had heard some animals scurrying back there.”

“That was just a gust of wind.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“West.” I sat up, slowly rising to my feet, and approached the two Aesir. One was clearly Odin. “There’s a field of oxen to the west, about a quarter of an hour’s walk.”

Odin smirked. “And from which direction did you find the ale?”

I chuckled, sweeping my red hair away from my ale-reddened face. “Doesn’t matter. There’s none left.” The both of us laughed, until his companion cleared his throat loudly.

“Loki, this is my brother Hoenir. Hoenir, this is my friend Loki.”

After the momentary shock of being called “friend”, I shook Hoenir’s hand, which he seemed hesitant to do.

“If your sobriety allows,” Odin said, “guide us to this field of oxen.”

“On the contrary,” I said, “my sense of direction in this area is better when I’m thoroughly inebriated—fortunately for the two of you.” While Odin and I shared another laugh as we started out, Hoenir looked at me with heavy and painfully obvious suspicion. My voice low, with a hint of gentle mocking, I said to him, “If you don’t close your mouth, you’re likely to trip over your chin.”

He nodded, closing his agape mouth with a scant, nervous smile.

We found the field with ease and made short work of the nearest ox. The long work came with skinning and preparing it for proper cooking and eating. Each time we finished carving a piece to put on the fire, an eagle dove down and snatched it away. It stole away all four legs, and when it came down to swipe the steak, I readied myself with a large fallen branch and struck it when it came near enough. It hung in the air a moment, then dove and clutched its talons into my shoulders, raising me off the ground and into the sky.

The pain of the talons boring into me was nothing compared to the fear of being released of them, and my bones colliding with the ground at least a hundred feet below.

“Put me down, you mangy, oversized chicken!” I shouted, hurling my fists.

It laughed. It wasn’t an eagle, not really; eagles don’t laugh. “I’ll set you down nice and easy, Loki,” it said, “if you do me a favor.”

Unfortunately, I knew that voice. It was Thiazi, the storm giant. He often liked to take the guise of an eagle, feeling that being able to fly brought him closer to Asgard. “What favor?” I asked.

“I heard you’re in good with Odin. I want some of Iduna’s apples.”

If it wouldn’t have caused me to plummet to the ground, I would have strangled him. Iduna served the Aesir in Asgard golden apples daily, which kept them ageless in their immortality. “I may have had congenial encounters with Odin, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let me in his front door.”

The monstrous jerk flew higher, the clouds mounting beneath my feet. “I want some of Iduna’s apples.”

“Yes!” I cried out desperately. “Fine! Whatever you say! Just set my feet back on the ground, you feathered imbecile!”

In a flash, he dove back to the ground and halted just near enough to drop me to safety, then sped away, squawking hideously.

“Some bird...” Hoenir said, watching it fly away.

“A giant bird,” Odin said suggestively.

He was always clever like that; I started then to understand how people would get so irritated with me. I needed to invent an excuse: “Thiazi, the storm giant. Rumor in Jotunheim is that Loki has been seen chumming up to an Aesir—Odin, no less.”

“Is that so?”

“As it happens, Jotun don’t like Aesir, and they really don’t like Odin. So Thiazi took it upon himself to remind Loki of who his kin really is.”

“And how did Loki take it?”

“I think I heard him scream like a girl once or twice, but he managed to swallow his shrieks long enough to tell Thiazi very specifically that he would be better suited disguising himself as the back part of a mule instead.”

He laughed—praise Yggdrasil, he bought it! I allowed myself to laugh, too, and even Hoenir joined in, unable to miss the humor in ridiculing a Jotun.

I had absolutely no intention in actually following through with my promise to Thiazi. Even if I had wanted to help the great jerk, I couldn’t; Iduna never left Asgard, and I, being a Jotun, was not allowed to enter Asgard. However, being only half-giant and the relative size of a human or Aesir, I was significantly overpowered by the rest of the Jotun, who knew of the promise I made to Thiazi, and banded with him to coerce me into keeping my word. And while Jotunheim was my home, I had to appeal to the citizens, else Angerboda would be peeling me off from beneath Thiazi’s foot. Under such pressure did I formulate a plan.

Dressed as a human, I made some rounds once again to alehouses—the ones I hadn’t yet drunk dry. While there, I sat myself among the more talkative crowds up at the bar counter. Eventually, their talk would migrate over to me, the mysterious one.

“What brings you to this part of the world, stranger?” one finally asked.

“I’m chasing a myth,” I replied.

“What’s that mean?”

Pulling together my best storyteller voice, I said, “I’ve heard that there is a hidden grove of sacred trees where golden apples grow.”

“Like, solid gold?”

I shook my head. “Whoever eats them gains immortality.”

That was all I needed. I went to merely two alehouses, and talk of the magical golden apples spread wider than even the Storm Giant could reach with the full length of his arms. Two days later, as I laid in wait, I saw Iduna descending from the rainbow bridge of Asgard, clutching her ash box, as always, where she stored her apples. I casually wandered out from my place, keeping eyes focused on my path as I walked by. I feigned surprise at seeing a lady at the foot of the bridge, and halted in my tracks. She smiled at me somewhat timidly, and I took it as an opening.

“Forgive me for staring,” I began. “I was just curious as to where you may be traveling, having come from Asgard.”

“I have heard there is a sacred grove where enchanted apples grow,” she replied. “I feed my own apples to the Aesir. I thought to find these new apples, and have brought my own to compare.” She raised the lid of the ash box to display the shining golden apples.

I let my brow fall into a perplexed state. “A grove of enchanted apples? In Midgard? Some ridiculous rumor, I’m sure. There couldn’t be any place like that down here in the humans’ realm.”

Not a moment later, Thiazi swooped down, his great eagle wings flapping, took hold of Iduna by her fragile arms, and flew away.

“Put her down!”

Of course he didn’t listen; he wasn’t supposed to. He took her off to Jotunheim. By the time I arrived there myself, I was a hero.

CHAPTER TWO: BROTHERHOOD

I was more glad than I could say. It had been some time since I pulled off a prank, and had never pulled off one of such measure—one to trick the Aesir. Best of all, while the Jotun worshiped me for as long as their slight attention spans would allow, Odin believed in the mask of innocence I had created for myself in my encounter with Iduna before her capture. I very deliberately made myself available to encounter him, walking leisurely by the trunk of the world tree, to show him just how “upset” I was over the poor girl’s abduction. It took hardly even three full days for Odin to approach me at that place.

At first glance, one would not suppose anything was going wrong with the Aesir. Odin was always excellent in displaying only a countenance of determination, purpose, and at the same time, utmost indifference—a man so guarded, that I almost couldn’t say what to think of him. Almost. With his usual tread of solid, deliberate steps, his face not striking any concerns or troubles, he came to me at the base of Yggdrasil.

“Loki, my friend, you were witness to the abduction of our Iduna,” he began.

I nodded slowly and said, “I am more sorry than I can say. Being only half-giant, I am barely contest for an ogre like Thiazi.”

“You underestimate your abilities, Loki.”

Though the statement was made simply enough, it struck me—did he determine that it had really been all my plotting? But going on, he made no such declaration to that knowledge.

“Despite our many powers,” Odin said, “Aesir may still be overtaken by creatures so large and strong as the Jotun. And in speaking with my council, no one could determine a course of action—by force or strategy—to retrieve Iduna from such a dangerous place for us as Jotunheim. So I have come to appeal to you, friend.”

I felt a sudden shock down my spine, unbelieving that Odin could possibly ask what he was about to.

“I ask for your help, Loki, in returning Iduna to us. One of my raven scouts confirmed that she is being kept in a high tower, unreachable to anyone not of a giant’s stature.” He then brought up the sack he was carrying and removed a feathered cloak. “This is Freya’s cloak.”

Now a lump caught in my throat at the sound of Freya’s name, the name of another Aesir being used so freely in my presence.

“Admittedly, she was hard to convince, but she trusts me. And I will trust you with it, Loki.” Then he handed the cloak over to me, without even waiting to hear any objections. “Wearing this cloak will give you the wings to fly to Thiazi’s keep. Do this for me, Loki, for the Aesir, and you will have our gratitude.”

To this day, I still cannot account for that moment—how anyone else would have regarded me with distance and trepidation, when he looked at me with such calm and clear conviction. I find it very hard to believe, especially knowing him as I do now, that he didn’t believe I was at all to blame for Iduna’s capture. Why did he give me that cloak? Why did he so readily, with such wisdom as he gained through such dire measures, trust me? Me—the last one in all of Yggdrasil whom anyone would dare to trust.

Needless to say, I was dumbstruck as I accepted the cloak. For me, it had all just been a fun little game, but now, it was something truly significant. And yet I was silent and still for perhaps only five seconds before I whipped the cloak onto my back, and with my arms sprouting wings, took off into the sky to do exactly as asked by Odin, leader of the Aesir, sum of all wisdom.

At this point, I was still rather terrified of flying, even though I was the one taking directions of where to go and how fast. Perhaps it has something to do with my fear being realized: being so high on a fantastic and elaborate deception, then being shot down hard to the ground. Whatever the reason for my fear of flying, it made me rather a terrible, unskilled flyer, especially for my first attempt. By the time I managed to make it up the height of Thiazi’s tower, I had bugs in my teeth, twigs in my hair, and dust in my eyes, looking more like a deranged, winged troll than anything else. I had to make myself appear at least somewhat decent, so as not to frighten the innocent and fragile Iduna as I came to the window of her room at the tower’s peak.

“You, sir!” she said. Unlike most times when I was so addressed, she said it with hope and eagerness.

“Come along and climb out the window quickly,” I whispered, “before the Storm Giant comes back to look in on you.”

She complied at once. I held her waist as she put her arms around my neck, and took off flying down the tower, out over Jotunheim. I couldn’t believe how simple and effective the rescue was; surely any of the Aesir could have just as easily accomplished it. My brow furrowed through the winds whipping by my face as I realized that Odin must have been testing me—I am convinced he was. Why else would he have bothered to venture out of his own council to find me for such an easy task? I determined that I passed his test, but what did that mean? Was I now an official traitor to the Jotun who raised me? Had Odin done this to other Jotun, to draw the enemy away from his own kind? I could not see how he could profit from it.

Especially now, I cannot see what profit he thought to gain from it.

With these thoughts clouding my mind as the gate to Asgard came into my view, I was suddenly struck in the back, completely disrupting my course and hurtling me toward the ground. In an act which surprised even myself, I made the effort to turn myself in the air, to see that my back would hit the ground, and that I would break Iduna’s fall.

I don’t remember the impact hurting. I have no doubt that it was painful, and I do remember being terrified in anticipation of the collision to the ground, but I am at a loss trying to describe the pain...I simply don’t remember it. All I remember was opening my eyes and seeing Thiazi as an eagle, soaring straight toward me, his neck and beak sharp as a spear. Then he burst into flames. Just like that, and with a squeal of torture ringing in the air, he burst into flame.

And I laughed. I just burst out laughing, unable to rise to my feet, barely even able to keep open my eyes because of the laughter. That I do remember, the sound of my own laughter: even more shrill and squawking than ever Thiazi had uttered as an eagle. Then Odin appeared in my view, standing over me, laughing almost as much as I was, and I knew instantly it was his magic that had enflamed the giant bird.

“You do fine work, friend, fine work indeed!” I said.

He held out his hand and helped me rise, which I could hardly do with my back feeling so numb and so stiff. If there had been any pain, it had by then been numbed by laughter.

“You do fine work as well, friend,” he said. “Iduna is safe and will return back to Asgard with us.”

I naturally assumed his “us” referred to the other Aesir. But as I reviewed the words in my mind and considered his hand of camaraderie on my shoulder, I thought for certain that I had heard him wrong.

Then Odin, as though it were the most usual, natural thing in the world, put an arm each around Iduna’s and my shoulders as only comrades do, and led us across the Bifrost rainbow bridge which took all three of us up into Asgard.

However much wisdom the man had taken such literal pains to gather, I was convinced any and all of his senses had then been lost. They must have been, to have so deliberately led me into the Aesir haven. They must have been, for him to do what he did that evening at sunset, with all the hosts of Aesir gathered to watch. At the time, I only accepted what he proposed, because I thought he was joking. He had never been more serious in his life.

He had never been more foolish in his life.

“Whatever bonds have kept us apart,” he recited, “this day, we form a bond which will keep us together in soul, however we may lack in congenital flesh.” At that, he drew a dagger across his palm, and I across mine. He then held out his hand. “Brother.”

I met his palm with mine and said, “Brother.”

I don’t remember if there was applause. Traditionally, people would applaud at such a ceremony, but I really can’t imagine that the Aesir were at all glad of Odin’s decision. I don’t remember their reactions at all, because my eyes were concentrated on his, and his on mine. I wonder is he was thinking the same thing I was thinking: whether it was a turning point for the best, or whether it was a climax only to be followed by severe downfall.

When I returned to Jotunheim the following day, Angerboda was the first to put her hands around my neck, and as she did so, dragged me into her shoddy house, throwing me against the table.

“We had it, Loki!” she shouted. “We had Iduna, and we had her apples of longevity, and you...I can’t even imagine what was in your head! Freeing her? Risking your duff for someone else? And for the Aesir? I can’t...I just don’t...Loki!”

I had stopped paying attention to her since I collided with the table. I had since then sat myself on top and proceeded to use a fork to scrape the mud off my boots. In a fury at my inept attention, she stormed toward me. All I had to do to stop her in stride was hold out my right hand—scarred. Like pouring water onto a candle flame, she was instantly docile.

“It really happened?” she asked. “Just as I had seen?”

“That whole thing with Thiazi was only a means to a greater end, my dear.”

She didn’t question my loyalty one jot then, completely overcome with anticipation of my leading a revolt of Jotun against the Aesir, now that I had a greater capacity to do so. She didn’t say another word at all, but jumped onto the table with me to plant a passionate kiss on my lips, breaking the table beneath us in the effort.

Children birthed from the union of a giant and a half-giant was no great abnormality. But I never considered what would be formed from the union between a Jotun witch and a half-giant Aesir-blood-brother. As if the union itself wasn’t strange enough, what came of it was ten times more strange.

Fenrir was the first to be born. Of course every man thinks about having a son someday, and Fenrir was more a son than I had ever bargained for. He was every inch covered in cobalt-black fur, even upon exiting his mother’s womb, and was built more like a wolf than any form of a man. His eyes were black, his teeth were black; the only color about him was his blood-red tongue. Furthermore, he grew rapidly. By the end of his first week, he was already as large as a grown human, and by the end of his first year, he was three times as large, and there to stay at such a massive size. It was not uncommon for people, even Jotun or Aesir, to fear the sight of him. Myself...I never saw it. He has always been a handsome, graceful creature—the handsomeness, he got from me; but as for the grace, I can’t imagine where that came from. I know for certain he got his stubbornness from his mother—he would never admit when he was wrong.

Jormungand followed his brother only thirty seconds later—a second son. No one but their parents could tell they were related, however. He was every inch covered in grey scales, built like a serpent. Serpent seems too belittling a word, though, for the massive size he gained: so long in length, that it would take months to walk from his head to his tail. His black teeth leaked with yellow venom, and it was a bad habit of his to always be slurping the venom through his teeth. The venom didn’t hurt him, of course, but the constant slurping would drive his mother and myself to madness the first few weeks. People feared him, too, which I could marginally see, as he seemed to inherit his father’s fetish for playing pranks. Being without limbs by no means inhibited him, either; I was always very impressed by how well he could execute a prank. I needed only to hear a sudden bout of screams to laugh and know that Jor was behind them.

Hel was the third and final child to be born to us, almost an entire hour after Jor. There were two things that made her very distinct from her brothers: the first being, of course, that she was female; the second being that she had a humanoid form, better resembling her parents. However, I did worry about her the instant she was born, as she appeared to have been born unhealthy. The entire right side of her body was a healthy pink, and with her bright grey eyes and flowing black hair, she was rather more beautiful a child than I thought Angerboda and I could concoct. However, the entire left side of her body was shriveled and pale, like a dead body in decay. But it was quickly proved by how her wrinkled, deformed left fist strongly grasped my finger that she was in perfect health. And knowing that she was in perfect health, she was quickly the most beautiful thing in my eyes. And clever, too. But it was more a sensible sort of cleverness, which was often irritated by her brother Jor’s incessant and childish jokes.

I was—and still am—the extremely proud father of extremely fine children. They were not at all what I had expected, but that make them all the more fantastic. So there is no way I can ever forgive myself for allowing them to be treated as they were. Could I have possibly been more selfish? It could have been the highest-gauged amount of selfishness known to existence.

I had told Odin about my children, and he many times visited with them. Now, I could tell that Odin appreciated them as I did—as people, and not monsters. He understood them best out of all the Aesir—which was how his worry came to be, I guess. He told me that they bode ill for the Aesir, that they would be a great danger to them—and to himself most personally. He then put it to me that as his sworn brother, I must allow my children to be divided across the world. At the time, he made it sound like they would be given important duties, and it was my own greed for the Aesir power that allowed myself to be fooled. I had been discovering my new powers since becoming an Aesir, the chief of which was the ability to transform into any shape, any being at will, which worked wonders for my hunger for mischief. And so, ensuring my children that their new homes would be good for them, I assisted Odin in relocating Jormungand to the sea, first. Jor took to the water very well, which put my heart at some little rest. Then, Hel was sent to be chief caretaker of the underworld. Though a very powerful position much suited to Hel’s intelligence and strong will, I knew it would be very dark and rather lonely for her.

Given the current circumstances, I can’t see how Odin punished my children, yet still singled me out for a reprieve.

The worst of all was Fenrir’s fate, in which I was the most deceived. Odin invited him to live with us in Asgard, so that he could “keep on an eye on him”. I’d thought I had a difficult time being accepted; Fenrir’s difficulty was greater. As soon as his wolfish form stepped over the threshold, Heimdall, the Ram-Helmed guardian of the Bifrost Bridge, brandished his blade.

“Put it away,” Odin commanded. “This is Fenrir, son of Loki. He will be staying with us here in Asgard.”

I would have been far more comfortable with a sudden uproar of verbal rebuttals, but no one would vocally refute Odin. Instead, they all stared between Fenrir and myself with venomous, threatening gazes.

Ugh. Venomous...Let me rephrase that...

It was the first time that a mere look from them actually made me feel inferior. My son and I were unwanted parasites in their eyes, and however well I’d held my own before such gazes in the past, I actually felt myself crumbling at the brunt of them. I think my sudden insecurity had to do a great deal with Fenrir, really. It was one matter for them to disrespect and loathe me—I usually deserved it. But not Fenrir—he was a truer equal to them than I was, if not their superior in intelligence, dignity, and strength. And they regarded him as nothing better than a leech that needed to be crushed underfoot. And all this only from their silent expressions permeating the air. The only words I could think to say were: “Come on, son,” as I led him away to the home he would be sharing with me.

“Why should I waste my time here?” he asked me that night. “They despise the sight of me, and I have no desires to tie me to this place.”

An excellent sign of his intelligence: The power and prestige of the Aesir were of absolutely no interest to him. I know now that it was intelligence; then, I thought it was foolishness. “Odin himself has invited you here,” I told him, “to the stronghold of power and wisdom. Whatever the motive of his invitation, you can’t just disregard it. Use this opportunity to your advantage.”

“Even if I were interested, they are not interested in offering me anything.”

“You’d be surprised how primitive their interests are. If I can manage to lure them into any form of camaraderie, I’m sure you can.”

I think he heard the eagerness in my voice. Though I didn’t admit it aloud, I was glad to have one of my own with me in Asgard, someone of my own kind to stand and be counted with. And I think he knew that, because he said, “I’ll do what I can, father.”

I thought it was what I wanted for him, to share in the power I had achieved from the Aesir. But I quickly discovered it wasn’t worth it, as my son was being transformed into a festival sideshow attraction. You see, Tyr (god of whatever) was among the several Aesir who believed, in spite of Odin’s orders, that Fenrir needed to be gotten rid of. And unlike myself, who was Odin’s blood-brother, Fenrir could be gotten rid of.

Tyr started out with friendly competition. He and other male Aesir began an arm wrestling tournament. I declined, having little interest in physical feats. But Fenrir’s stubbornness got the better of him, and he enlisted into the tournament. It was sheer joy watching him conquer each Aesir, one at a time. None of them could hold a candle to him—he slammed one fist after the other, claiming all victories to be had. With every sneer from a loser, I had a very smug grin. But he was very good about it—unlike his father, he didn’t play up the bravado. In fact, his good nature was contagious, and as crowds assembled to watch each bout, several actually began rooting for him, and pumped their fists in the air with a cheer when he slammed another victory. For once in my life, I was overwhelmed—I was proud, happy, and laughing with artless merriment, rather than at some joke.

But boy, was it some joke…

Tyr actually befriended Fenrir after that day. They spent much of their time in athletic competitions and casual conversations that roared with laughter. I joined them sometimes, suspicious of any Aesir spending so much time with my son. Now, I’m usually a shrewd judge of character, but that was put into doubt when I observed genuine respect from Tyr. Could it be that a close-minded Aesir could actually see how impressive my wolfish Jotun son was? Unfathomable.

Then the Aesir organized a new competition of strength: They would chain each other in fetters and try to break loose. The Aesir record was held by Thor, who was able to break out of the fetters in five seconds.

“We’ve got a fresh pair waiting for you,” Heimdall, the master of these ceremonies, told Fenrir, holding an unbroken set of fetters.

Tyr took Fenrir’s arm, leading him away. “We’ve actually got all the equipment set up on the field. We were going to…”

“Come on, Fenrir,” Thor insisted. “It took me five seconds. Won’t take you any longer.”

With a grin, Fenrir approached and let himself be chained. When Heimdall waved his arm to begin, Fenrir burst out of the fetters almost immediately. After a slight moment of awe—or shock—the spectators applauded and cheered.

And that wasn’t the end of it. The next day, they came with stronger fetters. And stronger the day after that. The reigning champion, Fenrir, would always be enlisted to go first, and though it took perhaps five seconds longer each attempt, he always shattered the fetters, and faster than anyone else. Still, I didn’t like it. It wasn’t a typical sort of contest, but rather seemed like a trap someone schemed up.

The fifth day of contest, the fetters were markedly different than any others—they appeared to be mere silken threads woven together. Furthermore, these fetters were attached to the ground. Fenrir recognized my concern, feeling it as well.

Heimdall held up the fetters to Fenrir. “Day Five, champion. Ready?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Fenrir shook his head. “Not today.”

“You’re dropping out? What, afraid you’ll lose?”

Fenrir smiled wryly. “I have better things to do than entertaining you with paltry tricks.”

Though it was lost to my son, I heard Tyr whisper, “That’s enough, okay?” to the Aesir.

The goddess Freya took hold of the fetters, looking them over. “I bet I could break out of these.”

Fenrir laughed. “I’m sure the whole of the Aesir would gather to watch you struggling with chains, my dear.”

Freya set her jaw firm. “If you do it, I will.”

Fenrir looked to Tyr. All the gathered Aesir looked to Tyr, waiting for his intervention. I was reminded of the same threatening glares that hounded me until I agreed to abduct Iduna—and I could see Tyr buckling under them. He pat Fenrir on the back, smiled, and said, “Show them how it’s done.”

Fenrir stared warily at him. “I will, if you hold your hand between my jaws while I’m chained.”

Tyr’s smile disappeared. Nonetheless, he replied, “Deal.”

I stepped forward to rebut, but Freya had already clamped one of the cuffs onto his wrist. Together, she and Heimdall had him completely chained up—fetters on his wrists, his ankles, even one for his neck. He stood on all fours, as he always did when prying himself out, and Tyr set his trembling hand between his open jaws. Fenrir flexed and thrashed in the fetters, accomplishing nothing except for a rattling clash that struck my core with each flinch. Then the Aesir began to laugh. Now knowing he wouldn’t be getting out, Fenrir bit down on Tyr’s hand and tore it off, spitting the hand at Heimdall’s feet. The Aesir gathered around Tyr to administer to his injury, but he pushed them away and left to care for it himself.

I tried what I could to break the fetters, even transforming into different creatures and beasts to use their strength and their claws. The only result was more laughter from the Aesir. Furious, I brushed them all aside and found Odin in his study chambers, demanding that Fenrir be released. He just looked up from his tome and said, “I can’t.”

I took his book from him and threw it against the wall. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Those chains are indestructible. You know Fenrir to be stronger than I. If he can’t break them, how can you expect that—?”

“Don’t play this with me, Odin. You can’t tell me that, with all the knowledge of the known universe at your disposal, you can’t get my son free. My son…blood-brother.”

Still calm and complacent, he repeated, “I can’t, Loki. I can’t.”

I knew without doubt that he had a role in it, somewhere. Who else would know the perfect recipe for indestructible fetters? “‘Bring your son to Asgard, so I can keep an eye on him’. You old codger, you deceived me!” My last three words caught my tongue...After all, I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve deceived people, even up ‘til that point in time.

Odin seemed to find the irony in it, as slightly—so slightly, that it could have been a wrinkle—he smirked. I don’t know; maybe he didn’t smirk; maybe I just saw it in my mind’s eye. At any rate, he said to me, “Trust me, brother; this will not only protect our children, but will protect our brotherhood.”

What I did in retaliation was, I knew even at the time, very infantile; but I was so angered over the fate of my first-born children, and had to show Odin that I was not to be so trifled with. I began by storming down the halls with a giant’s stern step, and my ears caught the sound of singing. It was Sif, one of the Aesir I had yet to really meet. I only knew her at a glance as Thor’s wife, whom everyone called Golden-Haired—a fairly weak affectation. Nonetheless, I looked over into her bedchamber, where she sat combing her long hair and singing—then my eyes caught sight of a pair of scissors sitting on the dressing table. Without a thought of any kind, I marched in, picked up the scissors, and cut every hair from her head.

Again, yes, infantile; I know. I’m only clever when I’m calm, which is whenever “brothers” aren’t convincing me to abuse my children. In fact, even as I followed through with the last snip, I looked at the fistful of hair, listened to Sif’s silly screams, and couldn’t believe that it was actually I who had done such a ridiculous thing. My reputation as a clever trickster probably plummeted.

CHAPTER THREE: LOYALTY TO THE AESIR

I appeared before the council of Aesir, with Sif present, and apologized for my act of sheer stupidity. Yes, they put my son in chains without apology, and I cut a woman’s hair, and then apologized for it. How could I not see then that they were absolutely ruining me, and with little effort? Mostly in an attempt to rebuild my ego, somewhat tattered by my lame form of retribution, I resolved to make it up to them—to show my loyalty in a way that could not be contested, and that could possibly build enough trust for my children to be released.

I had for some time been acquainted with a group of dwarfs with whom I regularly competed in drinking competitions. They were five brothers, and all smiths of a very peculiar kind. They did not smith iron or gold trifles, but true treasures. Now, I never cared for material items myself—such things could always be as easily lost as gained—but I knew the Aesir had an obsession for them, and so I thought to visit the dwarfs and have them fashion some trinkets for the Aesir. Of course, when I told them I would be presenting the gifts to the Aesir, they laughed their beards off.

“You?” one chaffed (I never bothered to learn their names). “The Aesir associate with you?”

“You must be daft to think we would fall for a trick like that!” another said.

“Present them to the Aesir yourself, then,” I said.

They looked from one to the other. “We shall be allowed into Asgard?”

“Give me credit for your appearance there, and yes, you will.”

It was too much for them to ignore, and they immediately set about creating gifts. I requested specifically a gift for the bald Sif, for her enraged husband Thor, and for Odin. They did so, and the other two of the five brothers also fashioned gifts, not wanting to feel left out in the endeavor. The gift for Sif was hair of real gold which, when attached, would grow just as real hair. The gift for Thor was a hammer of enormous size and great durability, which would shrink to fit inside his pocket. The gift for Odin was a spear that, when thrown, would never miss its mark. The final two gifts were a ring that would duplicate itself eight times every nine nights, and a grand ship that could sail across land and sea, and which could fold up to accommodate a pocket. I knew Angerboda would chastise me if I did not take something from this opportunity, and as the rings were too small and delicate for her large fingers, I chose the ship for myself, convincing the dwarfs that it was payment for their admission into Asgard.

Come to think of it...I think that ship will really come in handy someday...Yes. I made the right choice...

As for the ring, they wanted it bestowed to Freya. Apparently, she had been acquainted with them before during one of her sojourns around the dwarfs’ realm of Nidavellir, and was willing to give herself to all five of them completely in exchange for a gold necklace they crafted, called Brisingamen. The ring was seemingly crafted as a follow-up of gratitude.

At any rate, the Aesir were completely besotted with their gifts—it was rather grotesque to watch, actually. They were so fond of their toys, that they gave them names, like pets or children—Odin’s spear was called Gungir, and Thor’s hammer was called Mjollnir. And though I did catch Freya’s initial awkwardness upon receiving a gift—and wink—from the dwarfs, she was delighted, and called it Draupnir. I thank Yggdrasil that Sif had the sense not to name her new hair; had she done so, I would have likely torn it from her scalp without remorse. And at this, they seemed to forgive all my offenses—though I had yet to forgive theirs.

The first time I visited Fenrir after his chaining, I could hardly step forward. It was my bringing him to Asgard that led to his fate. And he couldn’t…he couldn’t stand the sight of me. We would meet eyes, then he would growl and gnash his teeth until I left. It was like that for weeks, actually…weeks. Sometimes, I would get an apology in edgewise, but…of course that wasn’t enough. No words were exchanged between us for two months. Then, having no one else, he wanted my company, and got it every day. I think…I think we became father and son again…at some point…

When I returned to Jotunheim, Angerboda would not be satiated by the pocket-sized ship. She knew every detail of what happened to her children, and reacted in a perfectly natural and rational way—she struck me across my face so hard, that I can sometimes still feel her handprint throbbing on my cheek.

Her shrieks could be heard all across Jotunheim: “Odin the Aesir imprisons our children, and you give him gifts?! I thought you would work your association with them to our advantage, and here you’ve become one of them? You’re supposed to be a spy, you two-faced ass! You’re not actually supposed to help them!”

Before her massive, flailing arms could beat me against the hut walls, I formed into a hawk and darted out her window, flying as fast as my wings would beat. I knew that from then on, I would no longer be welcome in Jotunheim—and more over, that any relationship between Angerboda and myself was destroyed.

Where did I go, then, to live? Asgard, of course! Why stay around my own kind who deservedly hated me, when I could be around the age-old enemy who distrusted and disrespected me and my family? A place where I could every day see my oldest son chained up like a criminal, reminding me that I was on the wrong side. On the wrong side, and being forcibly blind about it.

Still...I want to gouge my own eyes out for admitting it, but the greatest comrades I ever had, I found in Asgard. Go ahead and call me an idiot—I know it to be true. And yet I would be just as much an idiot not to respect such beings, so superior in intellect, power, and personality to the Jotun race. Odin, however I have despised him for his acts against my children and myself, is a fascinating man—a man I hate to love and love to hate. Almost like true brothers, no matter what transgressions are between us, there is at the core a mutual respect and fondness. When deep loathing stirred in my core, there was still some spark that would make us both laugh. Well...was.

And Thor...Ha! What a great lug that God of Thunder is! He certainly has not Odin’s intelligence, but he is bold. And not the naive bold of the giants—they are bold because they are too stupid to know better. But Thor is genuinely bold, going into dangerous and outrageous situations for mere amusement—just my kind of man. Granted, we’d have our fair share of fights, but the sort of petty things that later turn into inside jokes. Oh, there are hundreds of stories I could tell. But for now, I won’t stray from the main topic. Heh...Just, when I’m done, ask me about Grendel. Really, that’s got to be the best one...But later. Not now.

So, really, in spite of my being the only Jotun in Asgard, and in spite of the mutual haze of suspicion, I felt more at home in Asgard than I had anywhere else. It came to be that I didn’t even regret any betrayal against the Jotun—with the profound exception of Angerboda and our children. I had at length given my complete and willing loyalty to the Aesir of Asgard, and just in time for me to be of use to them once again.

Odin called together the Aesir to meet. At the long table, I made myself comfortable in my usual seat at the end opposite Odin, about a minute later than everyone else. It was my deliberate custom to be late for such meetings, in order to make my presence known—Hello, all. Though I am Jotun, I won’t be ignored; don’t forget, I’m Odin’s blood-brother. Mostly, it annoyed everyone, but Odin seemed to understand. He never chided my tardiness, and always waited for my arrival. Anyway, this particular time, there was a newcomer standing aside, just behind Odin. Yet however strange he was to everyone else, he was no stranger to me—it was Hrimthurs, a fellow half-giant who was making himself convincing as a human. I knew without doubt that Odin could see through the deception, so I was apt to find out why he had allowed him into Asgard.

“While we are greatly honored by Loki’s presence here in Asgard,” Odin began (whose words made it extremely difficult for me not to scoff aloud), “it has increased hostilities from the Jotun people. While our defenses are good, they may perhaps not be good enough. So I am pleased to introduce you to Sruth, a skilled craftsman, who has offered to more strongly fortify Asgard’s walls. I have brought him here to negotiate his terms.”

Then Hrimthurs—or “Sruth”, as he called himself—stepped forward. “I would like to begin by thanking Odin for graciously bringing my offer into consideration.”

I made a gagging gesture unseen by anyone.

“I promise to build your wall into such a fortress, that ten times the strength of the strongest Jotun won’t be able to conquer it. In return, I ask only for the sun, the moon, and...Freya, for my wife.”

Immediately, an uproar sounded throughout the Aesir, most loudly pronounced by Freya’s disgust and blatant refusal. I quietly awaited Odin’s appraisal of the situation. He uttered four very wise words:

“What think you, Loki?”

The gleam in his one remaining eye was easily visible to me from across the long table, and just so subtle a gleam crossed my eyes.

I folded my hands behind my head casually and said, “Oh, it sounds reasonable enough for such a task.” Freya looked ready to belt me, so I held up my hand to steady her. “But not quite so. We get one wall—no, not even a wall, but improvements to a wall we already have—in exchange for two very important things...oh, yes, and Freya...three things.” I winked in response to Freya’s snarl. “I think we would need proof of your skill in order to yield these things to you. Let’s see...tomorrow is the first day of winter, isn’t it? If you complete such fortifications before the first day of spring, then you will have all you ask for.”

I had to keep myself from laughing as the tension in the air suddenly rose, all heads turning to “Sruth” for his response.

Sruth haggled: “I will complete it by the first day of summer.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” I said. “Yes, that’ll be excellent sport for us to see you battle with Odur—Freya’s husband, you know. He’ll be returning in the spring.”

Freya’s eyes lit with anticipation and looked to me, to which I very slightly shook my head, felling her hopes.

Sruth tilted his head and said, “I will complete it by spring, if you allow me to use my horse Svadilfari for assistance.”

Odin and I met eyes and nodded. Odin then turned to Sruth and said, “We have a bargain, sir.”

Sruth, known to me as the giant Hrimthurs, grinned and left immediately to work. Freya struck the side of my head and threatened, “He better not complete it.”

“I know that boor,” I assured her. “He’s so lazy, that if it were possible, he would employ someone to breathe for him. Even an avid builder couldn’t finish it in that time.”

Well, we’ve all got to be wrong sometime.

It seemed a good scheme, to get some free upgrades to our defense. However, with his horse helping him move the large blocks, Hrimthurs was getting the work done with not only impressive quality, but impressive time. Only five days from the deadline, he was only twenty meters from completion. The Aesir would constantly berate me, blaming me for what they were about to lose; Freya’s death threats were so cutting and so sincere, that she didn’t even have to speak them—one look was enough to know that if Hrimthurs succeeded, she would beat me into the dust and bury me alive. I knew that if I could just get Hrimthurs’s horse, it would deter his success. Trying to steal the beast by force was out of the question—it would save Freya the trouble of pummeling me. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what I had to do, and however many times I had laughed over the thought before, it was the first time in my life that I did not find a prank amusing whatsoever.

I formed myself into a mare to lure the stallion away from his work. I’m not kidding, and I’m not saying anymore about it, other than it worked: With his horse gone, Hrimthurs wasn’t able to complete his work, and so we got free construction. Yes...okay, so that’s not all. I had another son. I gave birth to a stallion with nine legs—and do not ask me to elaborate on that. I won’t continue until you stop laughing, I’m serious. After all, Sleipnir is a magnificent horse, and with his nine legs, he’s more than twice as powerful as his horse father was. Still, I couldn’t help but be mortified by Angerboda’s ridiculous premonition coming true. Odin agreed to silence the secret forever, if he could have Sleipnir as a mount. I honestly had no intention of keeping contact with the horse which, though born of myself, was intelligent only as a beast, and so I consented, and let Odin have Sleipnir.

At least one of my children has been well cared for.

CHAPTER FOUR: HEL’S ATTENDANT

I visited my children as often as I could, no more scarce than once every three weeks. Odin didn’t mind—he even supported it. There were several times when he would voice an interest in some trip or other to Midgard, and I would mention plans to see my children, and he would concede. Sometimes he even joined in the visits—but most of the time, I told him I preferred to go alone. Mostly, my children weren’t too fond of seeing him, and I didn’t blame them. When he did visit, however, he did relish in whatever stories they had to tell, and they for the most part appreciated his advice.

The visits to Jor were much more interesting when I took them alone, though. You see, he only played pranks on people he liked. At first, I didn’t understand his preference, but in his visits with Odin, I learned that he could be astonishingly shy. He could only prank on people he felt comfortable around. And when he knew I was coming to visit, he always saved the best pranks for me—whether they were played on me, or with me. If the lack of any physical family resemblance failed to tie us together, his flair for impish delights made him undeniably my son.

There was one prank in particular…It was so simple, but so hilariously effective. You see, the Bifrost Bridge crosses over the Rhine River, the Rhine Maidens live in the river to guard the gold beneath the water, and Lorelei the Rhine Maiden adores Jor. She likes to pet his head and tell him he’s cute, which makes him feel awkward, but he endured it all for the sake of his grand prank. While Lorelei won’t allow any other creature to boat or swim through the Rhine, she welcomes Jor.

I had a part in it, too.

When I saw Tyr coming across Bifrost toward Asgard, I began descending down the bridge to meet him. It was my job to misdirect him with conversation.

“Hello there, Tyr,” I said. “Wandering Midgard?”

He just smiled faintly, like he usually did when he saw me. I don’t think he could ever figure out if I forgave him for Fenrir’s ordeal. “Just need to get out every once in awhile.”

“Fresh air, free of dysfunction, suspicion, and lurking hostilities?” I nodded. “Midgard isn’t that, but certainly better than Asgard.”

He chuckled.

As he passed by, I stepped in his way to halt him. As I improvised more conversation, I subtly backed him up near the edge of the bridge. “What do you even do in Midgard? Just walk around? Appraise the alehouses? You don’t strike me as that type.”

“I hunt, mainly. Sometimes I watch the humans at their sporting events, or carving out ships, or whatever work they do.”

I grinned. “You’re joking.”

“No. It can be interesting to see what they do with their time. It’s surprising how hardworking and resourceful they are.”

As we delved into it, I backed him up on top of Jor’s head, which was level with the bridge, and also made room for myself. And while we continued to talk, Tyr unknowing, Jor smoothly glided through the water with only a light breeze. He didn’t stop until he was miles away along a riverbank near Nidavellir. I then bid Tyr farewell with a pat on the back. He took one step and fell into the river. Jor and I then also dove into the river, and as I grabbed hold around his neck, he darted us through the water nearly a mile away, so that when Tyr surfaced from the water, we were nowhere in sight, and he was completely baffled as to where he was and how he got there.

Jor and I, out of sight, watched as Tyr swam to shore, wrung out his clothes, and stared around in bewilderment. We stifled our laughter as Tyr massaged his head and pinched his arm, expecting it to clear his madness, only to find he was still far from Asgard and Bifrost.

But Jor and I never were good at keeping quiet. Soon, my squawks and his clucks betrayed our hiding place. Tyr looked over to where we were hiding and ran over as fast as he could.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Neither Jor nor myself could stop laughing enough to explain. The best we could do was alternate words, and between our broken statements, it was all out. Ah, we still just couldn’t stop laughing! And soon it caught on with Tyr, who collapsed into laughter right along with us.

He always was a good sport. Jor chose his pranks—and victims—well.

Ah, yes. That was a great one. My visits with Jor were never dull.

But neither were my visits with Hel. She was always full of interesting conversation, the likes of which I could never find anywhere else, but hers always came from the beneath-the-world point of view—the angle from which the underworld views the rest of the universe. Some would call it cynical, but it was really based off a higher awareness of true importance. She had little pity for those who suffered a poor quality of life, not accepting it as an excuse for a poor quality of spirit. She said it was because, as the soul is an immortal thing, a person should not concern themselves with trivial mortal matters. A person should not change their soul to suit another. And other such ideals that have been lost for centuries.

And through whatever deeply serious conversations we would have, she would always—though she would never admit it—rely on me to make her laugh. She was proud of herself and of her role in the underworld, but her life was—I could tell—stagnant and lonely. So I knew that, even if she at times looked at my behavior as crude or undignified, she appreciated it.

But I wasn’t her only savior—as you well know. She does have attendants, and there was one in particular who was invaluable as her companion. That attendant was Sigyn—you.

I almost can’t believe how long it took for us to meet. I had visited my daughter for several months without ever meeting you, only hearing about you. When Hel said that you were an Aesir, I had in mind the typical perfection—the beauty that all mortals strive for, and that all Aesir are expected to have. Yes, they’re beautiful, but from one to the next, their beauty seems commonplace. But you…When I first saw you approaching, I didn’t think you were Aesir. You had all the genuine, natural beauty of the world that was humble, yet at the same time, so far above any Aesir.

You only stayed long enough to deliver a brief report to Hel, so we only had time to speak our names and exchange glances. I was glad, because for the first time, I had absolutely no idea what to say. I would have committed my first verbal bungle in history.

Our first conversation wasn’t for some time after that, not until my next visit—which was the following week. I remember that at first, Hel was surprised to see me again so soon, but in a blink, she understood. She was an expert at reading people, and not because of godly-born or acquired powers like Odin, but because of her vast experience in observing people. And when I knew that she knew, I’m sure she read my embarrassment. She made a sudden excuse of having an appointment elsewhere, leaving me alone in her council chamber.

Then you came in. “Oh. Excuse me. I thought Hel would be in here.”

“She just left, said she had an appointment,” I blabbed.

“Did she say where?”

“With the dragon Nidhogg…I think.” Then you were about to leave, so I added, “But she said she’d be right back here when she’s through…so you could…wait…”

For whatever reason, you did decide to wait there in the room with me.

Do you regret it now?

Wanting to crash the silence between us, I asked, “So what is it that brought an Aesir to work with Hel down here? I mean, have you always been down here?”

“Why? You don’t think an attendant of the underworld is a worthy occupation for an Aesir?”

“Oh, no-no-no, I…” Then I noticed a glimmer in your eyes—you were joking. I decided to venture a joke in return: I turned up my nose and spoke in a superfluous tone, “An Aesir would never dirty their divine lungs with this fetid air.”

And that was the first time I heard you laugh. It at first shot through my pulse like a dart, then left me weightless. You then explained, “I needed to leave Asgard and feel useful for a change. All I ever used to do as an Aesir was…well, nothing. You know how it is there. Life there is not so much about purpose as it is about pleasure. I was growing bored of it. So when Odin suggested the need for delegation and organization down here, I offered myself for the task.”

“My daughter appreciates you very much.”

You then leaned in toward me confidentially and remarked, “To own the truth, Odin was to make Hel my attendant. But she had such natural skill for leadership, that I insisted she take reign. And it has been an honor to serve her.”

Despite my uncharacteristic shyness at that time, I couldn’t help but take advantage of how close you were to me—I pulled you close to engulf you in a kiss. As expected, you pulled away, struck me across the face, and left the room.

Then I burst out laughing. I don’t even know why, but I did. It was the strangest thing, but I really couldn’t stop laughing. I think it was a symptom of all the bizarrely new emotions surging through me—they needed an outlet. Because, well, my instinctive outlet had been interrupted by a hand coming at my face.

When the sting eased, I made another visit. You weren’t afraid of me; didn’t even seem angry at me. We even managed some hours of conversation with each other—I talked about my sons, you talked about my daughter, and we talked about our similar slanted views of Asgard and the Aesir. And it all flowed so easily, like we’d been living in foreign countries all our lives, and finally encountered someone who spoke our native language.

After hearing so much of Jor and Fenrir, you said how you wanted to meet them, and it immediately became my life goal to see that you were introduced to both of them. Of course, meeting Fenrir meant going to Asgard, which you weren’t too anxious about. But Hel, being the amazing daughter she is, convinced you to go along with me. Maybe that’s one reason not to regret knowing me—because it was obvious that you hadn’t left the underworld in a long time. When we stepped up into Midgard, with sunshine, blue sky, green grass, trees, you came completely to life. You became more animated, more humorous—you even challenged me to footraces several times, cheating a great deal of the time. You did so! But it doesn’t matter, anyway; you could have beaten me without cheating. I could only ever run if it was towards an alehouse or away from a vengeful victim.

And I was a gentleman the whole time. Okay…okay, yes, there may have been some innuendos, some double entendres, but for the most part, I was a gentleman—as far as I go, anyway.

Fenrir was happy to meet you. I didn’t think he believed you were an Aesir, either, until I told him. You also insisted on seeing Odin, saying that while in Asgard, he was like a father to you. However much I resent the man now, I do understand that sort of attachment to him. At the time, he was overseeing the construction of a new meadhouse.

“You’re back just in time, Loki,” he said.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“An honorary afterlife for those who die in battle in my name. It will be called Valhalla.”

You said, “That’s a lovely name.”

“Here are the plans.” He unrolled the parchments to show us. “The walls will be made of spears, and the roof of shields. And the gates will be large enough to fit eight hundred men walking side-by-side. All of it gold.”

“That’s huge,” I remarked. “Are you expecting Jotun?”

I could tell he didn’t appreciate that joke, but I think I saw you smirk a little.

“Wait…” I finally realized. “All of it gold? All of it? Where are you going to get it all?”

“That’s why you’re back just in time, Loki.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, yes, what am I doing?”

“You will procure the gold from the Rhine.”

You and I exchanged glances, thinking that, for once in his life, Odin was out of his gourd. “You want me to steal the gold from the Rhine River?” I asked. “Even if I can trick the Rhine Maidens, their Father’s sure to get murderous if he finds out.”

Odin just slapped me on the back and said, “If anyone can do it, Loki, it’s you.”

I just shook my head. “I’m not going to stick out my neck for some shiny mausoleum.”

He turned to look at us both with his one eye. “Do this for me, brother, and I will sanctify marriage between you and Sigyn.”

“I’ll do it.” My brain finally caught up with me, and I could see that you resented the suggestion. After all, it wasn’t his decision to make. Turning to you, I tried to cover my mistake: “I mean, I’ll do it, but just for something to think about. It’s not like a contract, or anything. More like a…just-in-case…sort of thing…”

You didn’t say a word, just stood there like a statue. I was so embarrassed, that I left right away toward the Bifrost Bridge, cursing Odin with every step. I was about halfway across when I heard someone walking along behind me—it was you.

“You really don’t have to,” you said. “It’s just another display of the Aesir materialism. You shouldn’t risk your life for a drinking house made of gold—or for me.”

I shrugged and said, “I would never risk my life for things like that. That’s not my style. I’m just doing it for kicks. It gets boring up there in Asgard, you know.”

“Yes, I do know.” Then I felt you link your arm in mine. “You don’t need to make a deal with Odin to get married.”

“Well…I do need his blessing, actually. He is my blood-brother.”

“Who are you going to marry—him or me?”

I theatrically scratched my chin. “Let me consider that awhile.”

With a grin, you shoved me aside. “Go soak your head in the Rhine.”

“Only if you’ll join me.”

In the end, of course you know, I decided to steal the Rhine gold. Once again, Odin’s power took precedence. I had the chance to bring something into my life that had his approval—a rare opportunity. And it just so happened that it was something important to me.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE RHINE GOLD

I knew that getting past the Rhine Maidens would be a cinch for me. I just needed to bring along Jor, and while they all cooed over him, I could steal the gold. The only difficulty was in the actual stealing—it was a lot of gold, at least ten fistfuls measured by mountain giant hands. And it all had to be transported up the bridge and to the construction site in Asgard. I could have worked from dawn to dusk and not moved it all. It had to be done quickly, and I couldn’t do it alone.

I took my thoughts one step at a time. First, I borrowed the net from the sea goddess Ran, the net that never breaks and never releases its prey. I knew it could help in retrieving the gold from the bottom of the river. Second, I employed Thor and—against my grain—Heimdall. Though I loathed Ram Boy Heimdall, he and Thor were the only ones I knew who possessed the strength able to haul up the nets filled with gold.

The third point was the most difficult: transport. Thor and Heimdall couldn’t just drag the net up the bridge to Asgard with each catch. Even with their strength, it would take too long—and I couldn’t be sure their strength would last. I needed a vehicle, but one that could move over water and land. Thor’s chariot was out—too small. A rowboat wouldn’t be enough. Then I thought of that ship I had received from the dwarfs, the one that folded to fit in my pocket. I tested it when I was visiting Jor and explaining his role in my plan. Taking the piece out of my pocket, I tossed it into the air, and as it hit the ground, it unfolded into a ship made of dark wood. There were no masts, no sails, yet as soon as I boarded it and took the helm, it glided along at exactly the paced I wanted. It also drifted effortlessly from the sea surface to the grassy ground, not jerking or slowing as it sailed across the earth. I wasn’t sure if it had enough capacity for all the gold, but it was my best bet.

The next day, at dawn, Thor and Heimdall and I waited near the bank of the Rhine as Jor made his timely arrival at the opposite end of the river. The Rhine Maidens cried and cooed, swimming over to him. As soon as the area was clear, I tossed the ship onto the water’s surface. I was afraid at first that it might form too large and attract attention, but it grew to a modest size to perfectly accommodate the river’s width. Without further ado, we boarded the ship, and Thor and Heimdall got to work casting out Ran’s net and bringing up the gold. My actual physical participation was minimal—I mostly hoarded the gold into the bowels of the ship and kept my senses alert for the Rhine Maidens and their father.

Jor was excellent. He stepped outside his usual comfort to keep the Rhine Maidens well distracted, holding lengthy conversations and throwing compliments their way if they threatened to look around. And the ship held up fantastically, never sinking with the extra weight, and never running out of room for our stolen gold. I could tell that Thor and Heimdall were tiring and beginning to struggle as it came into the afternoon, but they dug deep and didn’t let themselves slow until the final net full of gold was on the deck of the ship, just at sunset. I pat them on the back and took the helm, directing the vessel off the river and up the bridge. When Jor saw us crossing, he sighed in relief and abruptly ducked underwater to escape his vapid admirers.

I did thank him, didn’t I? I’m fairly sure I thanked him.

That night, the builders got all the gold they needed, and that night, Odin joined you and me in marriage. And the wedding night, well…let’s just sit back and remember that. Or better yet, we could re-enact it. No really, the story can wait. Or I could tell the story as we...although the venom would probably hit you. Never mind.

I expected the Rhine Maidens would notice their gold was gone. However, I didn’t expect their Father to appear in Asgard the next day. How he got past Heimdall, the bridge’s guard, is still a mystery—though I suspect he thought that the Rhine Father was going to blame me and exact vengeance on me, which would have been just fine with Ram Boy. But the Rhine Father was smarter than that, and went straight to the source: Odin. At the time, you may remember, Odin was asking us indecent questions about our wedding night, and we were answering with completely different topics: “No, I don’t think it will rain today”, “I think the geese migration begins next week”, and so on.

At first sight, I didn’t know who he was. He looked somewhat like Odin, but with two eyes, dripping wet, with sand in his beard. But when he demanded, “Relinquish my daughters’ gold!” it was obvious.

Odin remained cool, as always, and replied, “That gold was stolen from the humans to begin with. It cursed them. It will be put to good, safe use now, out of the hands of temptation.”

“My daughters will have their gold returned, or the gold will curse you!”

Odin only shook his head in somber refusal.

The Rhine Father was just as resolved to his own task. “You will lose a precious treasure until mine is returned.” Then he grabbed your wrist. “Freya is mine!” With that, both you and he disappeared, leaving nothing but a splash of water in a puddle on the ground.

I futilely shouted, “No! She’s not Freya!” but of course he couldn’t hear me; he was already gone—and so were you. I then began shouting at Odin, “Just give them their stupid gold back!”

“It’s all been melted down,” Odin said. “It will be no use to them now.”

“It’s as useful as it was before, lying stagnant at the bottom of the river. It can do that in any form!”

He just pat me on the shoulder and said, “This is a challenge I am certain you can subdue, brother.”

“Challenge? This isn’t a challenge, this is the Rhine Father abducting my wife because you want a big, shiny tavern for dead people!”

Odin remained completely sober as he said, “And what of Iduna’s abduction? She’s someone’s wife, stolen for some shiny apples. Was that more than a challenge to you?”

I just tried to shrug off his little lesson by saying, “Not really even a challenge.” But the look in his eye was finite: It was obvious that Odin wasn’t going to do anything. As usual, it was up to me. But I didn’t have a plan of any kind. I couldn’t conceive any level of deception that I could employ against the Rhine Father. The only plan I could think of was to restore the gold taken from his daughters—if not from Vallahalla, then from wherever I could get it.

Upon reviewing the fiasco, when Freya’s name crossed my mind, the answer became inescapably clear. But I knew I would have to wait two nights in order for it to work, and I couldn’t in all conscience…I’m sorry. I’ve never been able to use that word with a straight face, regardless of context. Anyway, I couldn’t—in good judgment—just leave you unguarded with the Rhine Father for two nights. So I formed into a night owl and found where he kept you hidden near the source of the river. I suspect he knew it was me, but since all I was doing was watching, he didn’t mind. I had contemplated swooping down to peck at his eyes a few times, but I thought I would have an easier time saving you if I were alive and unmaimed.

The third night after, I went into Freya’s home unannounced. She ranted and raved. I told her to shut up and listen. She threatened to dismember me. I took a step back and tried to explain my plan to her: “I need that ring the dwarfs made for you.”

“Draupnir?” she asked, clutching the thing to her like it was her baby.

“I need it to clear Odin’s debt with the Rhine Father and save my wife.”

“I’m not giving you anything, you—”

“That damned ring is just further proof of your whoring around!”

Her face turned three shades of purple, and her eyes exploded into flame, but she had no better argument than to shriek and throw the ring at my head. That’s that scar above my left eyebrow, the one I usually hide with my bangs. Anyway, I didn’t care about the damage; I got what I came for. And traveling as fast I could in the form of a stag, I ran down Bifrost and to the source of the Rhine. I only just set hoof in the water when it rose in a wave and took the form of the Rhine Father, so I formed into myself.

“Are you here to return my daughters’ gold?” he asked.

“I’m here to replenish their gold,” I replied. “Odin’s builders have already melted down what was stolen. But I have here repayment better than what your daughters had before.” I presented the gold ring.

“One gold ring is not just payment for an entire keep.”

“Watch.” It took a minute longer than anticipated, but the gold ring quivered, then became two. It quaked, then became three. It didn’t stop until there were nine rings total, all pure gold. “This happens on every ninth night,” I explained. “Not only will your daughters have gold that they can use for wear, but in time, they will have an even larger store of gold than they had before.”

The Rhine Father picked up the ring in his weathered hand and examined it closely. “This has the artisan stamp of the dwarf masters Sindri and Brock. It is genuine.” Taking the copies from me, he held one up and said, “Give this to your wife, and take her home.”

“Thank you.”

He then released you to me, and that’s when you finally received your wedding ring.

CHAPTER SIX: THE DRUNKEN TRUTH

It was nothing short of a miracle that I found as much happiness as I did. Honestly, true happiness was never an ambition of mine—I was fine coasting through with contented amusement, and being fully aware of myself and my effect on others, I never expected more than that. I had an odd enough time adjusting to being in love and having a wife, that I really didn’t know what to do with myself once our sons Vali and Narfi were born. The fact alone that they were handsome and virile enough to contend with the Aesir was astounding, but also, Odin welcomed them to Asgard with no ulterior motive. Furthermore, all the other Aesir welcomed them—willingly. I never really believed it. The Aesir’s previous actions toward my family had imbued me with complete distrust and paranoia. That’s why whenever I left Asgard, either you three all came with me, or I made you stay behind with our sons. I always expected to return one day to find my sons in chains, or flung into some far corner of the world, or traded to the dwarfs as slaves in exchange for some new trinket.

Vali was more like me—cunning and charismatic. Narfi was more like you—amiable and charming. Every evening, they were invited by Odin—along with the other Aesir—to feast in Valhalla. The spread of food and drink served was always phenomenal, but it had to be—the warriors who lived out their afterlife there battled all day, then Odin resurrected them for the feast. Yes, Odin considers that a blissful way for his followers to spend the rest of eternity: in perpetual blood, sweat, and death. As you may imagine, I had little interest in the place, only attending now and then to feast alongside my sons.

Once, Vali convinced me to watch a battle with him. It was becoming a sport of his to bet on the outcome. He didn’t care for material objects, but he found great humor in winning them from the Aesir who held such things dear. That day, there was one new arrival, plucked from death and moved to the golden walls of Valhalla. He was older than most of them, grey-bearded, but still rather hardily built for his age; there was also a fierceness in his eyes.

“I bet he wins,” Vali said.

Heimdall scoffed. “No newcomer ever wins his first time. Especially a geezer like that.”

Vali smirked. “I bet your trumpet horn that he’s left standing at the end of the day.”

“Okay. And if he’s not, then you have to join the battle tomorrow.”

They shook hands. “It’s a bet.”

My shoulders were shaking as I tried futilely to suppress my laughter.

“What?” Heimdall asked.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize him,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

I gestured to the newcomer and told Ram Boy with a laugh, “That’s Beowulf!”

He looked to the man and shook his head. “No, no that’s not him.”

I couldn’t believe the denial. “That’s him! If you don’t believe me, then give him your arm.”

“I’m not giving him my arm.”

“Because you know he’ll tear it off.”

“That’s not him!”

It was. Vali and I knew it, and at the day’s end, when he was the only one left standing, Heimdall knew it. With a roll of his eyes, he handed over his trumpet horn to Vali.

At the feast, Vali corked the narrow end of the trumpet horn so he could use it for a drinking horn, which greatly aggravated Ram Boy. But being the good sport he was, Vali promised he would return the horn the following day, and chummed up to Heimdall as they matched drink for drink. Meanwhile, Narfi and I sat carousing with Beowulf.

“Father, father!” Narfi nudged me. “Tell him about that time you and Thor met with Grendel.”

I widened my eyes suggestively and said, “I don’t think he wants to hear that one.” And really, Beowulf would not have liked it. But you would; really, ask me when I’m done. “You know, I’ve been to that meadhouse. Grendel’s arm really makes a good ornament.”

“It reeks,” Beowulf said after a swig of mead. “Could barely stand that place during the summer. But most of the people who go in there are too drunk to care.”

“What do you think of all this?” Narfi asked, dropping his voice low. “Knowing you’ll spend the rest of eternity in battle after battle?”

“You know, it feels pretty good, actually. I haven’t been in a battle like that in years. Boy, when you live a warrior’s life, any other afterlife is just dull.”

Narfi stared in disbelief. “You like it?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, at first, it’s just a duty to your country sort of thing. But once you’ve started, you don’t want to stop. The excitement, the fear, the danger—it all pumps your blood and keeps you alive. When it all stops, well…you feel dead. You may be safe at home with your wife and children, but you feel dead. Useless. And bored like nothing.”

Narfi’s eyes wandered to me, and I could tell he was wondering if I was the same way.

I just shook my head and put my arm over his shoulder. “How about we go see Fenrir, bring him some of this mead?”

Narfi smiled and said, “Yeah, he’d like that.”

Of course he did. Valhalla mead was the best draught of alcohol in Yggdrasil. It wasn’t even allowed outside of the hall, but I managed to keep a valkyrie distracted while Narfi smuggled a pint out. No, really, the distraction was just talking, nothing more. I was asking about how she found Beowulf when she collected him from Midgard. Pretty interesting, really…some idiot stole a golden cup from a dragon’s keep, so the dragon went raging all over the place, and Beowulf had to kill it—which he did, but the wounds he inflicted killed him. And get this: He’s a king, right? So you would think he would have the dragon’s riches distributed among the people who just lost their king. But no, he wanted to be buried with it. I couldn’t believe a man like him could be so…

I swear, that’s all I did to distract her! You want to balance the bowl on my head and go up and ask her yourself? Her name’s Elisabeth. Come on, you know I’ve tamed since we were married. Well, I’ve tamed with other women, anyway…

After my short drinking binge with Narfi and Fenrir, I left them so I could retrieve Vali from Valhalla before he got another black eye from a valkyrie. When I reached him, he had passed out under the table. He always was a lightweight. Anyway, I figured he was safe there, so I didn’t bother him. The only other conscious person in the hall was Heimdall, who was trying to blow his trumpet horn. I could tell he was stone-drunk, because the cork was still wedged into the end he was trying to blow.

“Let me help you out there, Ram Boy,” I said as I popped out the cork.

He blew a clear tone through the horn and laughed. “Sounds great!” he slurred. “Much better’n that drinking horn I was playin’ before.”

“Imagine that.”

“You know this horn was given to me by my, by my fa’er?”

“That’s nice,” I muttered as I headed toward one of the massive doors.

“He gave it to me that one time that I, that I visitited him in Jotunheim.”

Every bone in my body froze rigid, and I felt a rush of blood to my head. “Your father was in Jotunheim?”

“A course, that’s where he lives.”

I sank into the seat next to him. “Your father is Jotun?”

“Well, yeah!” Then he suddenly coughed and put his finger to his lips, whispering loudly, “Hey, don’t say that aloud, it’s a secret!”

“No, no, of course not.” I leaned in, not wanting to miss a single slur. “Your father is Jotun…is your mother Jotun?”

“Well, yeah! No!” he shouted. He then remembered discretion and lowered his voice again, which was difficult through his sudden laughter. “She’s human.”

“So how did you convince everyone that you’re an Aesir? How did you fool Odin?”

“I didn’ do it!” he protested, pounding his empty mug on the table. “When I was a egg…”

“You mean a baby.”

“Right. When I was a baby egg, my fa’er was walking ‘round Miggard and found a Aesir sitting under Yggdrizzle with a baby…egg. No, with a baby, she had in a basket. And the egg-baby was crying, so she was singin’ to it. Then the baby went to sleep, and then the mo’er went to sleep.” Then Heimdall began drifting off to sleep, so I jammed my elbow into his ribs. “Lokiii! You long-haired bassard! Let’s hava drink.”

I grabbed him by his shirt collar and yanked him to face me. “Your father was walking around Midgard. He found an Aesir mother and a baby asleep. Then what?”

“Shh! It’s a secret!” He leaned in, and I endured his toxic breath to hear more. “He put me in the basket, took the Aesir baby, and left. Pfft.” He thrust his hand out like a bird flying away and tried to drink from his empty mug.

My mouth fell open, heavy with astonishment. “You’re a changeling. A Jotun changeling.”

“Yeah, and so when I visited fa’er in Jotunheim, I made sure to call him Farbauti instead of fa’er.”

This time, the blood rushed to my head so fast, that it made me dizzy. “Farbauti was my father.”

“Only ‘cuz you was switched. He was my fa’er first!” he shouted angrily, pounding his fist on the table. Instantly, he started laughing again, and again tried to drink out of the empty mug.

“Who is my real mother, then? My Aesir mother?”

“Her name’s Au-ge-la,” he carefully said.

The name was only faintly familiar to me. “She’s an Aesir?”

“Well, yeah! But she’s in the sea, a goddess of the waves.” His hands moved like waves, hypnotizing himself for a moment. “She can’t come to Asgard, ‘cuz Frigg’ll get mad if she finds out.”

“Why would Frigg…?” Now my breath stopped in my chest. “Odin.”

“Well, yeah!”

I coughed, a reminder to breathe. “I was born out of an affair between Odin and a sea goddess…Odin’s my…”

“But it’s a secret,” he said, echoing into his empty mug. “So don’ tell.” Then his eyes slid closed and he passed out, his head on the tabletop.

I desperately sought out an unfinished mug of mead down the table and chugged its contents so fast, that it burned my throat—as though everything would somehow make more sense if I were drunk. I had been Aesir all along. Heimdall, protector of the Bifrost Bridge of Asgard is Jotun, and I, scourge of Yggdrasil, have always been Aesir—and Odin’s son, no less! I never told you this? No, I never got around to it. And, honestly, I didn’t feel like parading it around. Really, what would happen if I told everyone that I’m Odin’s son? Imagining that they would even believe me, they would probably try to draw me into their shallow social circle. As a Jotun, they didn’t care whether I was coming or going.

As I was staring into space, inhaling every remaining drop of mead in the room, Odin entered.

“It’s not my policy to revive warriors after this battle,” he quipped as he looked around the banquet hall of empty mugs and passed-out drunks. “Looks like you finished the last of it.”

I looked over to him—this man who was apparently more than a blood-brother, but actual blood father—debating over whether or not to ask him anything…or even to talk at all. Did he know? Was that why he made me his blood-brother? I tried to find my voice, and decided that to feign drunkenness would add the appropriate levity. “Why’d you make you my brood-blother?”

He smirked and sat next to me. “Could you rephrase the question?”

“Why’d you make me my blood-brother?”

He pat me on the back, and I forced a belch to help my ruse. “Because I could tell that you’re a good man.”

I spit out laughter, flailing the mug. Then I switched to severity and slammed the mug down. “I want the truth!” I then cocked a grin and said, “I’m really the bastard son of some Aesir, aren’ I? ‘Cuz you would never really trust a Jotun.”

“You’re the only Jotun I trust. In fact, I would sooner trust you with important matters than most Aesir.”

I squinted at him. “Are you sure I’m not an Aesir? ‘Cuz I’m awfully smart and amazing.” I pointed at his nose and slurred, “I’m pretty much as awesome as you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure things would have been easier if you were an Aesir.” He chuckled and pat my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I don’t regret it—yet.” With that, he rose and helped Heimdall to his feet.

Odin really had no idea of the truth. Yes, he’s always been a very guarded person, but I could tell that he really didn’t know that I’m his son. Well…I guess he could have feigned ignorance to cover his indiscretion. But all things considered…I really don’t think he knew. I don’t think he knows. No…looking at me now, I’m convinced he has no idea.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE HUNTING PARTY

Tantamount to how surprised I was by Odin’s approval of my sons—and learning I am his son—was his being eager for me to get to know his known son, Balder. I honestly had little interest in any of Odin’s other children. Balder in particular was always talked of as good, wholesome, and wise—altogether, a boring combination. He was called the Golden Boy, among other things, because he seemed always surrounded by a golden aura of light.

For years, I knew almost nothing about him. When he became ten years of age, Odin sent him out to travel the world and learn everything possible; to build his library of wisdom, I suppose. He returned just shortly after our wedding, twenty-four years of age. And his arrival sparked a bizarre scheme in Odin: He, Balder, and myself would all go on an overnight hunting trip together. I was never very interested in hunting to begin with, and despite our being blood-brothers, I wasn’t sure Odin was on the level. But he was—we were all packed and gone that next morning.

While we were traversing across the wilds of Midgard, Balder decided to indulge his curiosity about me: “Father’s told me much about you.”

“I’m sure he did,” I answered blandly.

“You are half-Jotun?”

Suppressing a knowing smirk, I replied, “That’s right.”

“What was it like for you to make the transference from Jotunheim to Asgard?”

I looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. No one had ever cared to ask that question. “I wasn’t really accepted at first. I’m still not, in a lot of ways, though I think I’m respected more than I was. Of course, that has a lot to do with your father—anyone he deems worthy has to be tolerated.” For a moment, I looked to where Odin walked ahead of us; as always, I could not determine any reaction. So I continued, “There were many adjustments that I regret, but in the end, I think I’ve felt more at home in Asgard with the Aesir than I ever did at my birthplace.”

Balder paid genuine attention all along. “How is it that you feel more at home in Asgard?”

“Jotun just don’t have the scope of imagination and intellect that I have. They tend toward more primitive goals, their lives are set by a survival instinct. The Aesir are more than that; they live beyond survival…” I dared a critical remark: “Though they also display some primitive tastes at times.”

Balder tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

“They’re still outrageously entertained by physical displays, and almost all of them are obsessed with material objects.”

Balder nodded. “Yes, I do understand that.”

“One thing I’ll never understand is how they name their possessions like they’re children. Can you explain that?”

He shrugged. “I’m not very close to that mentality myself.”

I picked up a stone from the ground and faked enthusiasm. “What a substantial coating of dirt covers this rock! I believe I shall name it Astransifer!”

To my disbelief, Balder laughed. “Are we really so bad as to name rocks we find on the ground?”

“Not the rock—the dirt on the rock. The rock is called Refisnartsa.”

He laughed harder, and I laughed along, tossing the rock over my shoulder. He had the most amazing laugh, the kind that spreads and makes you fly. As the joke settled, he calmed and speculated, “The only merit I can find to naming things like that, is to identify them. Suppose there are two fine swords sitting side by side, which look alike. It’s not uncommon for things—especially mass-produced weapons—to look similar. But if you name them and stamp the name into them, you know which is which, and whose is whose. Likewise, if you think of all the spears my father owns…”

“A dozen at least,” I confirmed.

“…they do all have their own unique characteristics well enough, but what if he were to send a servant to fetch one, or if he lost one? He could say to find his spear, but how would the servant know which to look for? If he said, ‘Find Gungnir’, the servant knows to bring the spear gifted by you.”

I waggled my head in consideration. “I suppose that makes an ounce of sense. But still ridiculous is the fact that they own so many objects—and of the same kind.” I put my arm around his shoulder and asked with loud mocking, in order that Odin would overhear, “So what do you think of your father’s masochistic pursuit of wisdom?”

It didn’t take long for Balder to become my favorite Aesir—present company excepted. He certainly had his father’s affinity for wisdom and knowledge, but there was more to it: Odin’s wisdom, however extensive, was biased. He used it to determine his own beliefs of good and evil, and how to enforce such beliefs onto his followers. Balder, however, was more broad-minded, using his wisdom to explore all possibilities; not only to find the right and wrong answers, but to learn all the answers. During that trip, I learned more from Balder than I ever did all the time I’d known Odin. Just proves how overrated that old git can be.

We had a successful day—if you count three boars, eight geese, and two deer successful. We found a place to camp, and Odin left to gather firewood, leaving Balder and me with the task of skinning and preparing our game—leaving us alone. While we worked, we had some light, intellectual conversation. But there was one thing in particular that had burned at my brain, and which he could possibly know.

“Balder,” I began, “has your father ever told you about…ever told you why he decided to make me his blood-brother?”

He nodded. “While I was away, I kept contact with my father through his messenger ravens. They told me every word he had to say to me, exactly as he said them.”

“Don’t leave out the filthy language; I’d like to hear it come out of your mouth.”

He burst out laughing, and I joined along. I had wondered at first if my uncouth jokes might offend him, but he had a great sense of humor about most things. He then waved his hand through the air to calm himself. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. His first impression of you, before he discovered you were Jotun, was of an exceptionally clever and amusing comrade. And, coming from my father, that alone is an enormity. But because of your irreverent and unpredictable nature, he was wary.”

“And the fact that I was Jotun didn’t worry him at all?”

Balder shrugged. “I admit, I was paraphrasing.”

“Come on, then; straight from the raven’s mouth.”

Were he talking to anyone else, he would have restricted the truth to what they wanted to hear, to avoid making waves. But because he was talking to me, he knew the truth was valid. “He was wary about becoming too closely acquainted with a Jotun, saying that the lot of them are too dense and too savage to have a consistent personality.”

Then I burst out laughing. After all, Odin’s assessment wasn’t far off with the general Jotun populace. Don’t get me wrong, I could name several worth the time of day and the air they breathe, but…it was too funny, and too true. Balder grinned a little, but I think it was more at the sound of my squawky laughter than at the joke. I applauded as I eased my laughter and said, “I will give him that one.”

He continued somewhat uneasily: “The cinch came when you saved Iduna, since you helped the Aesir, while betraying the Jotun at the same time.”

I shrugged. “That is proof positive.” While I didn’t regret my actions against Thiazi, the word betrayal hung in my head, bringing my merriment to a dead halt. “What did he tell you about my children?”

He fell silent, finishing his work on one boar. “He greatly admires them.”

“Really?” I scoffed.

He looked me in the eye with all sincerity. “Yes, he does.”

“Even Fenrir?”

“Especially Fenrir. He described your son to me as noble, strong, and wise. He said that Fenrir and I could have become like brothers.”

“Could have?” A sudden rustle in the underbrush distracted him, but I wasn’t pacified. “What did your father mean by ‘could have’?”

But he didn’t hear me. He picked up his bow and drew an arrow, looking up. I decided to stand and look, too; Balder was too artless to intentionally drop the subject. Trusting his suspicions, I drew my bow as well.

Bows were morbidly laughable against what surfaced.

It was an owlbear nearly thirty feet tall—an arrow would have been no more than a pinprick to it. It had the build of a brown-furred bear, with the face and beak of an owl; its head, shoulders, back, and limbs covered in black feathers. I’d never seen one so massive, with such blood-red eyes and such long talons.

My first instinct was to bellow, “Odin!” If anyone could dispatch the monster, it would be him. But Balder dropped his bow, grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled me in the opposite direction.

“Let’s get out of here!” he insisted.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I bolted off alongside him before my knees had the chance to give out beneath me. And could he run! He was like that first beam of sunlight that shoots across the horizon at dawn. I only caught up because I was afraid for my life; normally, I couldn’t outrun a lame cow. Then, after my head had a chance to catch up with my fear, I remembered I was a shape-shifter. Why couldn’t I turn myself into a ridiculously enormous owlbear?

Because it’s a lot easier to hide from a beast than to fight it. I formed into a fly and hid myself in a tree hollow. I felt confident that Balder would be fine on his own, as fast as he could run. Well…I convinced myself that I was confident. Really, I was acting on self-preservation. When the owlbear passed, I peered out from hiding. In his haste, Balder tripped on a tree root and fell flat on his face, with the monster gaining on him. Finally, my survival instinct upgraded to humane decency. If I just sat there and let Balder be killed, then I would be responsible for the world losing the best thing that ever happened to it. Also, I would see my half-brother die.

I didn’t have enough time to shape-shift into a decent competitor for such a beast. As I flew to Balder as fast as I could, I formed into myself just in time to push Balder aside on the ground as the owlbear struck. With Balder out of danger, the beast’s talons gouged the right side of my body. I still have a scar left, see? Just there, at my waist. That’s what it’s from. Anyway, after it struck me, the owlbear left. Just left, just like that. But stranger than its sudden departure was what I finally noticed about it. As I was breathing through the pain, trying to rise to one knee, I saw that the owlbear only had one eye, a left eye—just like Odin.

Balder put his arms around my shoulder and helped me stand. “You have my gratitude, Loki,” he said. Then he added confidentially, “But it really wasn’t necessary.”

“You think I did that to save your life?” I jeered. “Nah. I’d gotten scars on my left side from a hoard of angry ferrets. I just wanted my right side to match.”

“Can you walk?” He motioned like he was going to carry me, but I pulled away.

“Thanks, but I’d rather crawl on my belly than possibly have your father see me draped in your arms like some damsel in distress. Just be my crutch, and I’ll make it fine.”

Every hobble was a new discovery in pain, but it seemed to numb as we returned to our campsite. Not two seconds after we sat down, Odin came back with an armful of kindling for a fire. He played stupid—he looked at my scars and feigned confusion as he dropped the kindling.

“What happened?” he asked.

“An owlbear attacked,” I answered wryly.

He sat down with us, and between their powers, I started to heal. “Did you get it?” he asked.

“No. It just hit me, then went away…a big, one-eyed owlbear.”

“You don’t say.”

“I really do.”

The healing completed, with the exception of one scar leftover—intentionally. Then Odin suggested we start the fire so we could eat. All conversation turned to more inane topics as we roasted and ate our game. But the one-eyed owlbear didn’t leave my mind for a second, and as soon as Balder was asleep by the fire, I sat myself next to Odin, and without preliminaries, resurfaced the incident.

“Any particular reason you decided to cut me apart today?” I asked. “Or was there just a theme to this party that no one told me about?”

He shook his head with a glint of amusement in his eye. “I should have known I couldn’t hide from you, Loki. At any rate, be assured that your death was not my intention.”

“Then I should have told you before that I have no interest in joining the blood baths you host in Valhalla.”

“That’s not it, either.” He peered across the fire at his sleeping son, and his tone changed to complete sincerity. “His mother and I have been worried about his safety. We have reason to believe that someone means to harm him.”

“Ah!” I nodded. “Naturally, I’m a prime suspect.”

“You’re Jotun, you’re inscrutable, and you’re furious over the fate of your son Fenrir.”

I nodded, gritting my teeth. “You are the wisest, Odin.”

“I had to know that I could trust you around Balder, and that if he should come to harm, I would have just cause for defending your innocence.”

“Why do you even think that anyone would want to do Balder harm?”

An earth-shattering scream split the air, and every hair on my body stood on end. It didn’t stop, either; it came on in desperate waves, battering our ears with pure terror. But the truly terrifying thing, was that it was all coming from Balder—who was still asleep. His body convulsed as he screamed and shouted involuntarily, each belt of his voice making my spine more rigid with fear. But Odin was cool as water. He knelt down beside his restless son and carefully sat him up. Balder finally silenced as his eyes opened—usually bright and merry, they were sunken with dread and fatigue. Odin spoke a few words, drawing rune symbols with his finger into Balder’s palm until he calmed and fell asleep again.

“Is he alright?” I asked in a dead whisper.

Odin returned to his seat beside me. “Nightmares. Ever since he was a child, he has dreamed of his destruction. He can never see his dreams clearly—only shapes and muffled sounds. But they attack him with promises of death.”

I was silent a moment, disbelieving. “Balder?”

Odin merely nodded.

“But…Balder? His mind can’t even harbor such thoughts.”

“The nightmares are messages from the Fates; I’m sure of it. So you must now understand my concern.” He prodded the spot where he had left one of the scars on my skin. “A reminder, brother. The fate I see for my son is far greater than any the Fates themselves may know. If you can help me to guarantee Balder’s safety…” He silenced for a moment and slapped my back. “…then I will do everything in my wisdom and power to see that your son Fenrir walks free among us once more.”

It was one of the few suggestions that I was glad to consent to. “It’s a deal, brother.” I thought I understood then why he had been a party to chaining Fenrir. He suspected that my son could be a danger to Balder, for though the Golden Boy was gifted, his strength and ferocity was nothing to Fenrir’s. Of course, it seemed to me that Fenrir and Balder would get along fine, but it was common knowledge that sometimes Odin and his wife Frigg had perceptions into the future surpassed only by the Fates. I thought that maybe he had seen signs of a future event that would transpire—maybe by argument or accident, Fenrir would harm Balder; or he would appear to do so, and someone else would defend Balder by attacking Fenrir. Whatever the reason, at the time—for the first time—my son’s fate made sense, for Balder’s protection and for his own.

Of course, now I know that Odin was really just saving his own hind end by chaining up my son. Idiot. Fenrir had no vendetta against him—until he was chained up. Odin sealed the fate he was trying to prevent. Of all people, Odin should know that fate can’t be avoided, not in any case.

Not even in the case of Balder, as it turned out.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE UNIVERSAL VOW

When we returned to Asgard the following day, through the flood of Aesir welcoming Balder home, the Shining Boy insisted on meeting Fenrir, much to everyone’s surprise. Odin had no qualms about it, so I led Balder to where my son was chained and bound. All the other Aesir followed, all eager to jump to the rescue, should my son attack their most precious and beloved god. Fenrir just laid with his head on his crossed paws with a surly glance up toward the gathered Aesir, probably feeling like a village clown.

I knelt down and stroked the soft fur atop his head. “Son, I want to introduce you to Balder, son of Odin. He has been very eager to meet you.”

Fenrir just rolled his eyes up at me with a groan.

Balder knelt down next to me, though a respectful distance away. “I am honored to finally meet you. I have great respect for your father.” With a smile, he added, “Especially his sense of humor. He makes me laugh like no one else.”

Feeling a little more comfortable, Fenrir rose to all fours and grinned. “Has he ever told you about the time he had to make the giantess Skadi laugh? He tied a goat to—”

I interrupted: “You don’t need to get along that well.”

Balder approached more closely, his smile growing. “Come on, tell me. Just whisper it.”

“Really,” I insisted, “you don’t want to know. It’s really not funny at all.” Nonetheless, Fenrir whispered the rest to Balder, who laughed and looked to me with disbelief. I just shrugged. “I owed her laugh. It’s partly because of me that her father Thiazi died.”

Then Heimdall…No, I’m not telling you any more about the goat. So Heimdall…No! I’ve already been pouring my heart out for how many hours now; leave me some of my dignity. Come on, keep that bowl still, or the venom’ll splash out. So, as I was saying: Balder and Fenrir talking and getting along, right? Then Heimdall, for whatever stupid reason, starts to draw out his sword. I don’t know if he was afraid that Fenrir was going to get vicious, or if he was just jealous that Odin’s son was giving so much attention to a Jotun wolf man—but for whatever dumb reason, he drew his sword and took one step forward. Fenrir saw it, was instantly struck with anger and suspicion of some other trap, and lashed out and bit Balder’s hand.

The Aesir gasped in unison and rushed forward. I stood in front of my son, separating him from Balder and protecting him from the mob. Then Balder shot up to his feet and held out his hands. “It’s okay!” he shouted. “No harm done!” To prove it, he showed both sides of the bitten hand—not a scratch. Knowing Fenrir’s strength, no one could believe it. “Heimdall, put your sword away. Fenrir may look like a beast, but he has the mentality of a man. He will not harm me without cause. And, as you can see, he cannot harm me, even if he so desired.”

In awe, Thor looked over Balder’s hand. “What sort of magic is this, boy?”

Balder sighed, realizing it was time to reveal his secret. He drew his dagger and sliced the blade across his hand. Not even a dent. He even offered to Thor smash his foot with his hammer Mjollnir. After some reluctant hesitation, Thor brought down the hammer on Balder’s foot with all his might—nothing. While everyone marveled at his invulnerability, I turned to Fenrir, completely dumbfounded.

“Did you know about this?”

“Of course,” he answered. “I didn’t want to hurt him; I just wanted those morons to back off.”

I sat down beside him and whispered: “Do you know how he got his protection?”

“His mother Frigg came to me and made me vow not to hurt him, said she was afraid for him. At first, I didn’t want to do her any favors—why should I? But Frigg is a lot more sane and compassionate than her husband. So I made the vow.”

“Huh. I never thought I’d say this about anyone related to me, but you’re too nice.”

He shrugged. “Could be, but I doubt it. She sings to me every day now. Even brings me Iduna’s apples to eat. Just as long as Odin doesn’t find out. Besides, now having met him, I know I made the right choice.”

While his reply was interesting, it didn’t quite explain how Balder was safe from blades and divine hammers as well. I wanted to find out the whole truth, to see if I could protect my own children—even myself—in the same way. However, despite being her husband’s blood-brother, I really didn’t think Frigg would reveal the truth to me. After all, Odin turned into an owlbear and had me cut up just to prove that I wouldn’t hurt Balder—when they knew full well I wasn’t capable of hurting him, anyway. So I visited her in the form of an old woman.

“You certainly have a hale son,” I said, my voice cracking. “How does he stay so strong and healthy?”

Frigg smiled with that motherly pride and said, “I went all over the world and asked everything in turn to vow not to harm him.”

“Gracious, what a task! Everything?”

She nodded. “Everything.”

“The thunderbolt and the thistle? And plague and disease, too?”

“Of course.” She shrugged slightly. “Well, I did not make the mistletoe vow. It is too young to understand what I was asking of it. But we have no reason to fear the mistletoe.”

Well, that killed any plans I had. No way I could get anything to vow not to harm my hated and feared children, especially by my appeal. I mean, even if I asked anything to not harm Balder, they would say “no”, just to spite me. So I just let that drop, and conceded that if anyone deserved such protection, it was Balder.

I was so wrong…he didn’t deserve the treatment that protection gave him. Not at all.

From then on, it became the favorite sport of the Aesir to throw various objects at Balder, just to watch them bounce off him. For the first couple days, I’ll admit it was somewhat amusing, and he gave them the satisfaction. But it quickly sank into banality. No matter where he went to find respite, there was always a gang of Aesir following along, battering him with whatever they could get their hands on and laughing raucously. You would think such advanced beings would tire of something so savage, but no—the fifth, tenth, and thirtieth day was just as funny as the first.

Where Balder had been my favorite companion, he became someone I rarely saw from one day to the next. Not only was I in danger any time I stood near him—as nothing in all of Yggdrasil would vow not to harm me—but I was too disgusted by the Aesir to stand their continuous heathen display. I felt like my brain would melt the longer I endured around them.

But even while I was away, I couldn’t get my mind off it. Somehow, I felt guilty about it—a repeat of how I felt when Fenrir was chained. I could have waited until we were alone to introduce him to my son, then the Aesir wouldn’t have discovered his invulnerability. What could I have done, or not done, to help Balder avoid it? Then I realized I was being ridiculous. After all, Balder wasn’t my son; he was Odin’s son. And in that vein, why wasn’t Odin doing something about it?

That day of the week came around when Odin and I had our weekly day of fishing. We cast our lines, all fell silent, and I was determined to speak first.

“So what are you going to do about Balder?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Odin returned.

He was kidding, right? I wish. “Your son is constantly barraged by the people you ‘control’. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Balder can’t get hurt. Why should it worry me?”

I felt like I was speaking to a baby who didn’t know how to talk yet. I spoke slowly: “Be-cause it’s an-noy-ing. Because ev-er-y wak-ing min-ute of the day, he is harassed.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s only because he too damn nice to say anything. You’re his father—you’ve got to speak up for him. Make those Aesir stop.”

“They’ll stop when they’re bored of it.”

I just couldn’t believe the casual words coming out of the man’s mouth. “What is this—another one of your battles? Valhalla’s getting too boring for you, so you’d rather watch the gods pelt things at your son? For once, look beyond the war and the warriors—can’t you see that your son is miserable?!”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Loki. Every life experience is a lesson. He’ll take my place as ruler of the gods someday. Things like this will teach him patience and endurance—and hopefully, it will teach him how to take a firm hand. If I fight this battle for him, he may never win one of his own.”

I just rolled my eyes and sighed in exasperation. There was no convincing the man. Maybe five or ten days could be a life lesson. Over thirty days of such constant attacks could be permanent trauma. And what’s wrong with a ruler who’s humble enough to ask for help when he needs it? Even I’ll ask for help when I know I really need it. Then again, he had something of a point. Had Balder even tried to get them to stop? Had he said a single word against it?

By then, Balder had stopped trying to escape the attacks. He went every day to the same alehouse in Midgard—which weeded out the few Aesir who resolved never to set foot outside of Asgard—and sat with his back to the room, not even feeling the objects slamming against him as he sipped his ale. I entered the fray, dodging everything I could, and sat across the table from Balder, where I could know when to duck. While he was sullenly staring into his mug, he lit up at the sight of me.

“Loki!” he cried. “Let me buy you a pint.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “Look, haven’t you done anything to stop this? Have you said anything?”

He smiled bitterly. “Yes, I have. Let me show you.” He turned around and stood up to address them all. “Everyone, listen!”

No one silenced or stopped their play.

“Please stop this!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Listen to what I have to say!”

Nothing. No one even blinked. Their antics made them completely blind and deaf to him. Then, something happened that shocked and horrified me. In a fit of rage, Balder picked up his half-empty mug and hurled it. It crashed on the helmeted head of Hoenir, who just laughed at the liquor dripping down his face. With that, Balder turned around and sat back down, his jaw stern as he stared at the tabletop.

I couldn’t believe it. Balder had gotten violent—if even for a split second. And though he hid it well, I could see through his eyes that he was in intense pain—it was the same look that Fenrir had greeted me with after his chaining. My son was never the same after that; he became crueler and more like the beast they had all accused him of being. Now they were turning Balder—the purest, wisest soul I’d ever known—into nothing more than a target with mounting anger. I couldn’t let that happen, even if Odin could. Of all the children in my life that suffered, I was going to save at least one of them. I was going to save Balder.

My plan actually came just from whimsy. Since that day, I visited Balder at the alehouse every day, for whatever conversation we could manage. I quickly learned that the one event that was the highlight of this daily idiocy was when Thor would come in with his hammer—excuse me, Mjollnir—and hurl it at Balder, and it would strike the boy without a flinch. Balder told me he could tell when Thor threw his hammer at him, not because he really felt it, but because that’s when the laughter in the room would erupt to its fullest. At first, my scheme was just a musing that came to mind while watching the senseless act; I thought, How hilarious would it be for Thor to reach for his hammer to chuck at Balder, only to find that it was gone! I bet the whole room would fall dead silent, and Thor’s cow-face would turn purple. It made me laugh to think of it—the first time in a long time my laughter rang in that room. But then I realized that it could just be the perfect solution. Thor may accuse anyone or everyone in the room of being the thief; no one would show their face in that alehouse until the Thunder God was satiated again. Balder could finally have some peace, and I could have a fine joke.

The execution was difficult. I only had between the time that Thor entered until the time he sat down to steal the hammer, and not just to prevent his throwing the thing, but also because he would usually have the hammer shrink to fit in his tunic pocket; no way I’d be able to lift the Crusher in its full size. I began as a mouse. To save time, I climbed up and sat myself on the inside door handle, so that when Thor swung open the door and shut it closed behind him, I jumped from the handle and grabbed hold of his belt. Hanging off his belt, I sidled over and swung into his tunic pocket, hitting my nose on the hammer. I opened my little vermin mouth as wide as I could and clamped onto the hammer’s pommel, pulling it out of the pocket. I fell to the floor, the then-small hammer falling with me and striking my skull. Then it started to grow. I formed into a cat to carry the hammer in my teeth, moving silently to the door, weaving between legs and under tables. The hammer became too large and heavy, so I formed into a dog. I lasted until I reached the closed door—a dead end. My only choice was forming back into myself, still on all fours, to reach up and open the door, lugging the hammer out after me.

I’d made it outside just in time, because I couldn’t even drag the hammer behind me anymore. But my task still wasn’t over—any minute, Thor would sit down and find out his “Mjollnir” was gone, and I’d be stuck in his warpath.

That giant oaf Thrym came lumbering down toward the alehouse just then. He was famous in Jotunheim for getting his tongue stuck to an icicle and shaking the mountain so hard to pull it off, that the mountain became a valley. He liked to roam Midgard in search of women—which he never found, because they all ran and hid when they saw him coming.

My initial instinct was to stick out my foot and trip him as I usually did, but I thought the better of it and instead formed into a likeness of Freya with her long blonde hair and blue eyes, the likes of which I knew Thrym never could resist. I stuck my foot as far under the hammer’s handle as I could and groaned in agony. I felt the ground shake beneath me as the dolt ran over to where I was lying. He didn’t say anything—I doubt his brain was working fast enough to find some words. He just smiled his half-toothed grin at me as he lifted up the hammer to “rescue” me.

The door to the alehouse burst open as a swarm of people streaked out, shouting and scrambling. Thor’s roar from within drowned them all out. I formed into my own shape and joined the masses, able to escape the easily-confounded Thrym, unwilling to stay and watch things unfold.

My scheme worked—every day after, as soon as Thor stormed into the alehouse, all others would clear out. I would freely sit and talk with Balder, enjoying some intelligent conversation without risk. Balder would slide me a pint of ale, smile, and say, “Loki, thank you on behalf of my sanity.” All Thor would do was stare at the walls and down pints of ale. Some days, I swear I heard the walls shudder at the pressure. One day, he even growled in reply. I laughed to myself and asked him, “No luck yet?”

He just shook his boarish head and downed an entire pint in one gulp, never breaking his glare from the walls.

Everything was good. So of course, it couldn’t last. Odin called me to a council of the Aesir. They put me at the end of the table so that everyone could stare me down at once while he said, “You, Loki, will retrieve Mjollnir.”

I just shrugged and rested my feet up on the table. “Why me? Why not get He-of-the-Thunderous-Wrath to get his own hammer back?”

Thor was still seething too much to form his own words. Odin answered for him: “Because while Thrym has Mjollnir, he can easily overtake Thor.”

I scoffed. “Without his hammer, Thor’s got nothing below the belt?”

Thor threw a small tantrum by striking his hand on the table, echoing a thunderclap. “I could snap you in half!”

“With your girly hands?”

Thor was about to spring for me—I could see him start—but he just clenched his fist and grit his teeth, and that was it.

Odin said, “As Thrym cannot be taken by force, he must be taken by wit. You are the clever one, Loki.”

I nodded and rose to my feet. “Great. We all agree that I’m clever. Glad we got that settled.” I started to leave, but Freya pushed me back into my chair.

“We aren’t finished with you,” she said.

I smirked and leaned in to say, “I’ll slip under the table if you want to finish me yourself.”

She struck me across the face so hard, that I involuntarily formed into a beetle, stuck lying on my back with my legs scurrying in the air, unable to turn myself over. When I formed back into myself, everyone at the table was practically breathless with laughter. I rolled my eyes and composed myself on my chair. “What?” I asked.

Odin brought everyone back on topic: “Loki, you will do whatever you can to bring Mjollnir back to Thor.”

“No,” I said. “Let the oaf keep it; he needs it for teething.”

Many at the table began talking at once, scolding me. Odin held up his hand, and they quieted. “You will do whatever you can to bring Mjollnir back to Thor. If not, then Thor will be using you for pounding.”

I nodded; knowing Thor, the threat was very real. As I left the room, I added, “You should be glad, Odin, that Mjollnir vowed not to harm your son. Its owner should have vowed the same.”

CHAPTER NINE: A PLAN OF ACTION

Thrym was at his mountaintop home—rather, the jagged assembly of rock and snow that he called a home. For the first few days, I just monitored him, formed either as a hawk or a fly. He never, for a second, let the hammer fall from his fist, even after accidentally hitting himself in the head when he reached to scratch his bald scalp. As such, there was no chance of stealing it from him. So I decided to present myself to him, in my natural form, to talk to the dimwit.

“Impressive,” was my first word, which caught his attention. “How did you ever manage to steal Thor’s hammer?”

He chuckled deep from his throat. “Loki the Smart One wants to hear how I did it?”

“Yes; Loki the Smart One is very interested.”

He cleared his throat and said, “I picked it up off the ground.”

“That is impressive. And I’m sure Freya would be impressed, too. You should tell her about it. Wait, an even better thought: You should give her the hammer. I’m sure she would be greatly impressed.”

“Yes! I’ll do it! I’ll give her the hammer!”

“Great idea!”

“...after she marries me!”

I coughed on my premature triumphant laughter. “What was that?”

“You bring her here to marry me, and I will give her the hammer as a wedding gift!”

And once he got that idea, there was no other way of even tricking the hammer from him; he wouldn’t let it go for anyone but Freya. So I weighed my options: get pounded by the Thunder God, or get slapped around by Freya. I decided to see the goddess first.

“What?!” That first shriek wasn’t very inspiring of success.

I tried to remain calm. “The only way he’ll give up the hammer is if you marry him.”

“I am no trollop or bawd!” she cried furiously. “I will not be given over to some monster in exchange for a toy! If my husband were here, he would strike you through to Hel for suggesting it!”

“So…tell me again how you got that necklace you’re wearing?” I quipped.

Her lips curled into a snarl as her fingers curled into claws. I didn’t stay for further development—I formed into a stag and ran from her house with the greatest leaps I could manage, and didn’t stop until my stag form tired and reverted back to myself.

I sat with Fenrir awhile, talking over the situation, wondering if he had any thoughts on the topic. He cared little about Thor losing his hunk of metal, but any mental challenge was welcome.

“Give him Freya,” he said.

“Only if I could use your fetters,” I retorted.

“No, father: You can change into Freya. He gives you the hammer, you run with it.”

I smirked. “That’s not a half bad idea, except that I can’t carry that thing.” Then, I was inspired by my son’s brilliance, and burst out laughing. “No, I have it! I have it!”

“What?” he asked eagerly. He knew a good joke was coming.

“Thor will disguise as Freya—in a wedding gown, and everything.”

It took only a moment to picture the bearded behemoth in a dress for Fenrir to laugh as well. “Perfect, father, absolutely perfect!”

Our father-son laughter was interrupted by Heimdall. “Loki, the council is meeting to discuss the retrieval of Mjollnir.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m right behind you.” I stayed back only a second to pat my son on the head, then went along to the council room and seated myself at the long table again.

Odin opened the discussion: “It is obvious that we cannot give Freya in marriage to this Jotun, regardless of the hammer’s importance to our safety.”

“I have an idea,” Heimdall spoke up. “We dress Thor in a wedding gown and present him as Freya. As soon as he gets the hammer, he can kill Thrym and escape.”

I was ready to leap across the table and take that smug jerk by the neck. Odin nodded and said, “Yes, that will work. Loki, you will go with Thor for this.”

Knowing that Odin knew the idea was mine was enough for me. “Naturally, brother.”

“I was going to volunteer,” Heimdall said.

Odin looked at him sternly and said, “I think Loki would play this out better. Don’t you agree?”

Heimdall just muttered under his breath and shot me a glare.

Thor wasn’t too keen on the plan. “I’m not dressing up like a woman for anything!”

“Come on, Thor,” I said. “Thrym already emasculated you—a dress isn’t going to make any difference.”

Before Thor could react, Odin held out his hand. “Thor, sit down. Loki, shut up. This plan will work. You will do it.” With that, he dismissed the council. Thor slammed his fists on the table and left.

I shrugged. “He’ll come around.”

“So long as you don’t berate him,” Odin cautioned.

“Yeah, yeah; sure. No more jokes about his mallet.”

“And hurry. If that Jotun figures out what he has, we could all be in great danger.”

“It takes Thrym eight weeks to count his fingers—and he only has nine. Don’t worry.”

He pat my back as he led me from the room. “With you, Loki, I always worry.” He then paused and stood in front of me, face to face. “Will you make the vow, brother?”

“For what?”

“Vow never to harm my son Balder. Do this for me, and I will leave immediately to find the answer to Fenrir’s freedom.”

I didn’t think twice. For me, it was a win-win. I knelt down and put my palms to the ground to recite the vow: “As I am Loki, son of Farbauti and Laufey, born of Jotunheim, I vow by Yggdrasil that I will never harm Balder, son of Odin and Frigg, born of Asgard.” Given my true heritage, I wondered how iron-clad that vow really was, using my foster parents’ names.

No sooner did I rise, than Odin embraced me with a fervent pat on the back. His one eye beamed with glory. “You will not see me again until I have learned the secret of Fenrir’s fetters.”

“Tell the truth, Odin: You had a hand in putting him in those fetters.”

He shook his head. “It was Heimdall’s servant Skirnir who went to the dark elves of Svartalfheim for the fetters. He had gone to the dwarfs, but anything they made was broken. I will, however, admit that I did not dispute the Aesir’s actions. Having the strength of a Jotun, he struck me as a threat. But he has vowed, and now so have you. With such acts, I will place my trust in you and your son. By my hand, Fenrir will again walk free—brother.”

I grinned, disbelieving of how well we were getting along at that moment. “Well, brother, I will leave you to that. I am off to perform a far more difficult task: wrestling the God of Thunder into his wife’s dress.”

Thor was nowhere throughout Asgard. Knowing him, he could have been anywhere, so I decided that, in order to find him, I had to think like him. And in order to think like him, I had to drink like him. So I went down to Midgard, just in time to see Odin cross the rainbow bridge as proof of his quest. Balder’s usual alehouse wasn’t far away, and I thought it a likely place to find the Thunder God.

I felt happier than I had in a long time. Balder was free from the constant barrage of projectiles, giving me my favorite comrade back, and soon Fenrir would be free from his chains, giving me my son back. I would be whole again.

Thor was in the alehouse, sitting at a table across the room from Balder, glaring into the emptiness and downing one of the many pints of ale queued up for him. I pretended to ignore him as I went over and sat with Balder at our usual table. He wanted to pick up our discussion regarding the division of the light elves and dark elves, but in whispers, I told him I had a mission concerning Thor. Then, in a loud voice, I began to explain it to him.

“Your father wants me to help get Thor’s hammer back,” I began. “So I thought that we’d dress up Thor like Freya, Thrym will give him the hammer, and that’s that. But He-Whose-Ego-Knows-No-Bounds can’t do it. So how about you?”

“You want me to dress up like Freya?”

“Yes. And now I think of it, you would work a whole lot better than the blonde yeti over there.” That got his attention—Thor put down his drink and looked over to us. “You would pass for Freya better; with your clean-shaven face, you’re a lot prettier.”

Balder grinned. “Finally, my true life’s purpose is realized.”

“Besides, you can’t get hurt. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of, whereas Thor has to stand up against a monster ten times bigger than he is, and who has the Crusher. Yeah, I guess I can’t blame Thor for saying ‘no’. How can anyone expect him to go up against a moving mountain with a brain the size of a poppy seed? You’re clearly the better choice.”

Thor overturned his table and stormed across the room, laying down his fists on our table so hard, that the ale jumped out of our mugs and almost hit the ceiling before splashing down to the ground. He pointed his finger at me severely, gritting his teeth against words he couldn’t express. Then he calmed a little and scoffed. “You think you can fool me, huh, Loki? You think you can jerk me around whatever way you want, and I’ll just go along for the ride? Boy, you must think I’m real dumb to fall for any of your tricks, so well as I know you.”

“So you’ll do it?” I asked.

“Yes, I will,” he said, sitting down next to me and hailing for a pint. “I don’t want anyone killing that toothless, rattle-headed ogre but me.” Just then, he seemed to notice Balder for the very first time. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Balder replied.

Thor nodded, silent for a moment, staring at Odin’s son like an estranged nephew. “You aren’t letting this mental case corrupt you, are you?”

Balder laughed. “No more than necessary.”

“You like fishing?”

“Sometimes.”

“When I get Mjollnir back, we should go.”

I added, “So long as it’s not out to sea, right, Thor?” I chuckled as I thought of a story Balder hadn’t heard. “Thor was out in a boat, and he wasn’t catching anything, so he hooks up this bull’s head for bait…”

“Loki…” Thor warned.

I didn’t take any notice. “So he gets a bite and yanks the line, and Jor comes shooting out of the water with the line in his mouth.” I could hardly talk, as hard as I was laughing. “Thor just about wet himself!”

“I did not!” Thor protested. Then he looked to Balder and said, “Who’re you going to believe—me, or the report of some water serpent whose father has worse breath than he’s got?”

Now Balder was laughing so hard, that he almost made tears trying to stifle it.

Thor merely shook his head and grumbled, “Why Odin ever became your blood-brother, I’ll never know.”

“You may well ask the same of your friendship with me,” I quipped.

“I would stand against the greatest monster with you, but I would never spill my blood for you.” Turning to Balder, he said, “Did he ever tell you about the time we went to Jotunheim to see that clod Geirrod?”

Thor and I didn’t get around to our mission that day. We stayed at the alehouse long into the night, competing to tell the best story, of which Balder was the judge. We wrapped up the evening with a drinking contest—I only remember that Balder won, because he was incapable of getting drunk. When we woke up the next morning, both Thor and I had a different boot on each foot. Balder had to explain that, when our intoxication hit its peak, we told each other “I love you” and swapped left boots as a sign of best-friendship. Furthermore, the boots we swapped had cut locks of our hair in the toes. It was then that we had to tell Balder the golden rule: What happens in an alehouse dies in secret.

CHAPTER TEN: RETRIEVING MJOLLNIR

Thor and I weren’t sufficiently sober until the following afternoon. We clambered up to Asgard, where his wife Sif sorted through her gowns for a white one that could be altered to fit her husband. However, once the gown was chosen, she was forbidden to see him again until he returned with his hammer. Thor also had Tyr make sure no other Aesir could peer in on him as I helped him fit on the dress and veil. Once I stepped back to see my bearded comrade in the flowing white silk, I laughed until my knees couldn’t support me, and I fell to the ground. Freya herself isn’t the frailest or daintiest female, so to see the oak tree figure of Thor in white, his muscles and sinews almost tearing the fabric, his stern, blood-shot gaze surrounded by soft lace, the thought of him passing as a blushing bride was impossible—and hysterical. I didn’t stop laughing until the sole of his foot met my face with a strangling stench and a threat to bash my nose into my brain.

I do miss that brawny bastard sometimes.

Then I couldn’t get him to step outside. Tyr assured him fifty times over that he wouldn’t be seen by another Aesir, but Thor still wouldn’t budge.

“Get moving already!” I sighed. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we’re done. If anyone laughs at you, I’ll put their name on a list, and you can pummel them when we get back.”

Then a smirk slowly sprouted from under his veil. “I’m not doing this alone, Loki.”

“I know; I’m going with you.”

“No, I mean a bride shouldn’t go to her wedding without a bridesmaid.”

I scoffed and shook my head wildly. “Oh no, you don’t! I’m just the plan master.”

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me.”

Any protestations I could come up with fell on deaf ears. Between him and Tyr, I somehow found myself in a white spring dress with a flower garland on my head. Yeah, you think that’s funny, don’t you? But, hey, with my scrawny frame and clean-shaven face, I was awfully pretty. You should be grateful I didn’t cross-dress for our wedding; I would have pulled focus.

I was just kidding! Okay, so I deserved it, but that’s going to leave a mark…

So anyway, looking at Thor’s guise, I couldn’t help but think something was missing, some definitive feature that, despite his ogre shape, would convince the giant that this bride was Freya. Granted, Thrym wasn’t very bright, but with Thor looking like a net full of boulders, he needed all the help he could get. Then I realized what the perfect finishing touch would be: Freya’s necklace, Brising-whatever. Not only did that bauble catch people’s attention more than the goddess’s eyes, but it would be undeniable proof that the bride I presented was Freya.

Of course, there would be no convincing Freya to give it up. Because of the multiple infidelities she enacted to possess it, her husband left her. Not even that moved her to dump the thing in the Rhine. I knew I would have to borrow it discreetly—or in plain terms, steal it. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be too difficult: Since her husband left, she fell into the habit of hiding her depression by taking an afternoon nap. On the other hand: Heimdall, watch guard of Asgard, could hear my approach to her home and catch me in the act. That sneak could smell a fire before it burned, and could hear the flints strike from ten miles away. No wonder he passed as an Aesir so well. I would need to distract him somehow.

I struck a casual conversation with Tyr. Because of his respect for my son, I in turn respected him. I complimented his dexterity in changing sword arms with such ease, using his formerly dominant hand for a shield. I then segued into encouraging him to visit Fenrir again. I know he hadn’t since he was chained, but I assured him that my son had forgiven him and would appreciate the company. Not only did I believe in my words, but they worked to my purpose: As Tyr approached where Fenrir was chained, Heimdall’s attention was directly fixed to their meeting, wondering if the wolf would attack again. Now that the guard was distracted, I made my way to Freya’s home.

As I came close to where she slept, she stirred. I immediately formed into the likeness of her ever-distant husband Odur—she would have seen through my bridesmaid guise easily. Her eyes opened completely, and she smiled. It was…weird. She had never smiled at me before.

“My husband!” she sighed. “Do I dream, or have you finally returned to me?”

“This is just a dream.” I made my voice somewhat hypnotic.

Her smile diminished. “Why do you torture me with your image?”

“I am only here as a reminder: No matter how far I am from you, we have each other in our dreams.” It took all I could muster to not wince at such sentimentality.

“You are right, my love. But before I depart from this dream, let me have a kiss.”

I swallowed a laugh. After all, this did work toward my goal. Mind you, that’s all it was: a means to an end. So as I leaned in and touched my lips to hers, I carefully unfastened the necklace from her neck, hastily hiding it behind my back. As she had closed her eyes for the kiss, she slipped off back to sleep. Then I reverted back to myself in my bridesmaid costume and ran out as fast as I could.

I’m laughing because it was funny, not because I enjoyed it. And no, I’m not blushing—I don’t blush. Come on, it was all to help get Thor’s hammer back. Okay, fine; if it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and…Well, you could’ve used the other cheek this time…Yeah, like that. Better? You should be; that really stings.

That necklace really did help a lot, anyway. Even buried under the veil, it sparkled. With Thor’s disguise complete, we were ready to see Thrym.

We reached Jotunheim near twilight—I think the dim lighting was to our advantage. As we passed through to Thrym’s cliff-side home, I had to keep all the other Jotun at bay, shouting, “Make way for Freya, bride to Thrym!” When we arrived at his home, all his kin were assembled—I could tell green teeth and hairy underarms ran in his family. And Thrym himself stepped forth, a vision in ragged, dirt-clumped furs. I presented Freya-Thor, and he smiled wide.

“Freya has come to marry me!” he exclaimed. He gave his bride a crushing embrace, then stared for a moment at the veiled face. “Freya’s eyes burn like coals.”

I made up an excuse: “That’s because she hasn’t slept all these nights, in anticipation of her wedding day.”

That worked; his smile grew. “Then let the wedding feast begin!”

He wrapped his arm around Thor’s and pulled him over to the table set up for the occasion. The table was overcrowded with food—for me, the only perk of the whole mission. As soon as we sat down, Thor and I engaged in a ritual pastime: an eating contest. No words or glances needed to be exchanged; the challenge was instinctively suggested every time we sat down at a dinner table together. I waited until he loaded up his plate, then loaded mine up with the same amount. While these contests could at times come close, there was no competing with the Thunder God when he’s anticipating a battle. He ate an entire ox-worth of beef, a stream-worth of salmon, and polished off five casks of mead.

“Freya eats like a wolf,” Thrym observed.

“That’s because she’s just anxious for her wedding,” I explained. “The sooner the feast ends, the sooner the ceremony can begin.”

He grinned and finished off the remaining food with one bite and gulp. He then pulled Thor out of his chair and dragged his bride-guise over to the stone archway crudely assembled for the ceremony. He knelt down in front of Thor and unsheathed Mjollnir. I could see the vein in Thor’s neck start to throb, and I knew a massacre would soon follow.

Thrym presented the hammer to his false bride, saying, “With this hammer, I wed you, Freya.” As he released the hammer, he peered into the veil. “Ah! Freya is smiling at me!”

“That’s because she’s eager to kill you,” I remarked, removing the veil from Thor’s head. “Hang on,” I told him as I unlatched Freya’s necklace. “Don’t want any blood on this. Okay, go ahead.”

I didn’t stay for what followed. In short, Thor eradicated Thrym and his entire family. So I left and changed out of my bridesmaid’s costume, walking around Midgard with Freya’s necklace and wondering how to smuggle it back to its owner. By then, I knew she was up from her nap, and of course she knew it was gone. If I returned it, whatever my excuse for taking it, she would strangle me with my own tongue. I thought for a moment about giving it to Hel—none of the Aesir ever visit her, anyway—but I didn’t want to get her in trouble, nor did I want her to acquire the curse of materialism. So the only decision that made any sense was to throw it into the Rhine, knowing the Rhine Maidens would appreciate it without asking questions.

I never made it to the Rhine. Crossing just by Yggdrasil’s trunk, I was tackled to the ground by something I didn’t even see coming—it was Heimdall. Ram Boy had me pinned to the ground so that I could barely move before I even heard his feet shuffle through the grass.

“Where’s Brisingamen?” he demanded.

“I told you, Freya, you keep acting like a man, someday you’re going to turn into one.”

He clutched my shoulders and beat me against the ground. “Where is it?”

I at first entertained the thought of misdirecting him—to tell him that I already threw it in the Rhine, and he had to go fish it out. As much fun as that would have been, it would have just dragged out the inevitable. “Calm down; it’s right in my pocket.” I squirmed my hand into my pocket and took out the necklace. “There. You can give Freya her pet back; I don’t want it. And when you give it to her, you can add that it helped Thor get his hammer from the Jotun.”

“I’m not passing along any of your lies, you leech.”

“Leech?”

“That’s all you are, after all. You leech off the power and prestige of the Aesir without contributing anything useful to our cause.”

I just laughed. “Whose idea was it that got Thor his hammer back? Who does Odin call on whenever the Aesir have any kind of problem?”

“You may be able to fool them, but you can’t fool me.”

“Are you kidding me with this?! Who’s fooling Odin? Who’s the leech? Better yet: Which one of us is the Aesir half of the changeling pair?”

For a moment, his eyes almost popped out of his head. But then they glared murder as he struck me hard against the ground. “How do you know that? Doesn’t matter; no one would believe you.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Odin and find out.” I escaped him by forming into a fly and buzzing away.

Heimdall wasn’t deterred—he snatched me out of the air like he was picking lint off his sleeve, then he tried to crush me in his fist. “Odin’s gone from Asgard, anyway, on a quest.”

I formed into a tortoise, prying his fist open until he dropped me. Then I formed into a raptor and shot into the air, just missing his attempt to ground me. Satisfied with the safe distance between us, I perched on a branch of the ash tree and called to him, “He won’t be gone forever! And in his absence, it could be fun to stir up some rumors among the other Aesir!” I could see that he was taking me seriously, so I added, “Clear things with Freya, and maybe I’ll keep your drunken ramblings secret for awhile longer!”

Knowing his flying pony would be probably be along soon, I didn’t wait for a reply—I took off toward the sky, trying clumsily to control the amazing speed of my feathered form.

That’s why I didn’t return home until the next day. Can’t remember if I ever told you that. Then again, you probably got used to me vanishing without a trace for untold hours or days. Why did you put up with that? No, never mind. If you start mulling over an answer, I might never see you again.

Well…at least now you always know where I am.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SAVING BALDER

Now I’m coming to the part that it all really boils down to.

Unfortunately, my remedy for Balder’s mental wellbeing didn’t last. Once Thor got his hammer back, things returned to normal in the alehouse. Everyone assembled to hurl random objects at Odin’s son, laughing as they struck him like twigs against stone. Balder sat with his back to the room, hunched over his drink, head bowed.

Then Thor strode in. Everyone silenced in anticipation, waiting for him to throw his hammer. He sat in his usual chair, ordered a pint, and drank it in one gulp. The one sitting beside him nudged his arm. Thor looked from him to everyone else in the room, showing that he acknowledged them. But he didn’t draw out his hammer; he just ordered more ale.

I smiled—for a brief moment. When they all figured out he wasn’t throwing his hammer, they didn’t take the hint. They all proceeded to throw empty mugs, knives, horns, helmets, and even chairs. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped out from where I had been leaning against the doorway and shouted, “Haven’t you had enough?!” They all halted and looked toward me. “Yes, Balder is invulnerable, we get it! Don’t you have better ways to waste your time, like setting fire to your beards, or getting caught in an avalanche?”

Then, I couldn’t believe how they reacted: They laughed at me. One jeered, “Poor Loki wants attention!” Another mocked, “Loki is jealous of Odin’s son!”

I was so disgusted, I just growled and left. I wasn’t even two steps away from the alehouse when I turned and looked through the window: They picked up their game where they left off. Then Thor came out and stood beside me.

“I can’t think why I ever went there,” he told me, looking back through the window with almost as much chagrin as myself.

“I think it’s time for a change,” I decided. “A real change.”

It was a simple plan: If Balder was actually injured, maybe the shock would finally get the Aesir to stop assaulting him. Now, however short my attention span may be at times, my mind will ensnare details that I know are of interest or may be of use to me. So, tracing back to my discussion with Frigg about her son’s protection, I remembered that she mentioned one thing that did not vow not to harm Balder: the mistletoe. Looking at the green tree with its dainty white berries, it does look innocent enough. But, really, if Frigg cared all that much about her son to take the trouble of asking everything in the world to vow, she should have been more thorough. I plucked a sprig of mistletoe and, with my dagger, whittled the stem into a sharp dart point.

I thought I had it all figured out as I strolled to the alehouse the following day, but as I took the door handle, I remembered: I had vowed not to harm Balder. Maybe I could, so long as I wasn’t laying my hand on him, but if Odin were to find out, any such contingency could mean prolonged imprisonment for my son. I had to get someone else to throw it.

For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, scanning over the sea of cackling imbeciles for a good candidate. I found the perfect man near the back of the room: Balder’s blind brother Hod. First of all, no one was even looking in his direction, so no one would see my involvement. Second, he was blind, which meant I could direct the aim of the mistletoe with his hand. And, altogether, I wouldn’t break my vow.

I sauntered across the brawling mass to the corner where he stood, and whispered to his ear, “It’s amazing how everything just bounces off your brother. Why aren’t you throwing anything?”

“I haven’t anything to throw,” he replied. “And I can’t see where to aim for him.”

“You shouldn’t miss out on this. Here, borrow my dart. I’ll guide your hand.”

“Okay. Let me know what happens.”

“Of course.”

I took out the mistletoe sprig and positioned it in his hand. I then leveled his arm so that his throw would land somewhere near Balder’s right shoulder. I wondered for a moment if Balder would be angered by it, but if it made the Aesir give up their inane ritual, I knew he would forgive me. So with my guidance, Hod threw the mistletoe.

I was a complete idiot not to consider our position in the room. Being so far back, the dart had to fly through the air, which was polluted by other projectiles. Its flight course was redirected when it ricocheted off a thrown rock—it was going to miss Balder completely. But then he turned in his seat, facing the onslaught for a moment. “Loki?” he asked. He must have seen me enter. Before I could realize the target he was presenting, the mistletoe dart pierced into his chest—right into his heart. He clutched his chest in pain, looking down with confusion at the blood flowing out of him, and collapsed.

The room fell instantly silent. I stared unblinking, waiting for Balder to wake.

“What’s going on?” Hod’s voice cut through.

Thor was the first to rise and check on Odin’s son. His voice was so suppressed by shock, that I nearly didn’t hear him: “He’s dead. Balder is dead.”

I couldn’t believe it. I thought that Balder might have picked up my morbid sense of humor, or something. But then I knew…

…

…I knew that was inconceivable—Balder couldn’t possibly have a sense of humor that sick…

Thor plucked out the dart and roared, “Who threw this mistletoe dart?!”

Hod jerked in fear. “The dart killed him?”

Thor threw people aside to cross the room to Hod. “You threw it, Hod?”

Tears streaked from his glazed eyes as he said, “I didn’t know! I couldn’t see! Loki, he guided my hand! He gave me the dart!”

Thor’s eyes burned like erupting volcanoes as he turned on me. “What is this, Loki? What have you done?!”

I was so dumbfounded, that the only think I could think to say was, “What are you even doing here, Thor?”

Snorting and snarling, he drew his hammer from his pocket and raised it over his head. Everyone surrounded him, chanting, “Crush-er! Crush-er! Crush-er!” The vein in his neck throbbed like a writhing serpent, and his face turned purple. But when he brought down his hammer, he thrust it into the ground, breaking the planking into mere splinters. He then grabbed me by my collar, thrusting his face to mine, and said, “We’ll bring him to Odin’s judgment.”

I didn’t know what else to do but form into a fly and retreat out the nearest window.

…

And, well…that explains how you didn’t see me for a couple weeks. I hid myself in the last place anyone would look for me: my old Jotunheim house. Most of the time was spent on something I’d done very seldom throughout my life: self-reflection. I wondered how deserving I was of all the insults and suspicion tossed my way; how deserving I was of all the respect and camaraderie I managed to receive. This all largely revolved around the incident with Balder: What in my lifetime formed my brain such that it found logical merit in intending to harm Balder, in order to free him from harm? Why didn’t the possibility of my half-brother’s death ever enter my deranged mind?

And why wasn’t I as sorry as I should be? At the root of any grief I felt, was a seed of triumph. After all, my plan did work: The Aesir stopped harassing Balder. Balder was beyond the harassment that belittled every virtue of his being into a mere target—that was it. That’s why I wasn’t sorry.

One day, my thoughts were interrupted by a very unusual sound. I couldn’t quite define it—it sounded like shuddering, gasping, with the soft patter of rain. When I went to the window to identify the sound, I recognized the Aesir’s messenger, Hermod, approaching my house. I formed myself into an old giantess as he entered my home.

“What is your errand here?” I asked in a withered voice.

“I come on behalf of Odin’s son, Balder,” he said. “Balder is dead, and Odin has appealed to Hel for his release from the realm of the dead.”

Curious as to how my daughter handled such a situation, I asked, “And what did she decide?”

“She will only release him if everything in the world weeps for his death.” That explained the odd sounds—all the world was weeping. In my mind, I congratulated my daughter’s fine judgment: She recognized the courage of someone approaching her with such a request, but at the same time, granted no extra privileges on grounds of divinity.

Hermod stared expectantly at me. “I appeal to you to weep in grief for Balder.”

After only a moment’s thought, I set my wrinkled face stern and silent. “I have no cause to weep.”

He looked at me with disbelief. “You what?”

“I have no cause to weep.”

“But you must. If even one thing in this world does not weep, then Balder will remain dead.”

I only repeated, “I have no cause to weep.”

His wide eyes fell into a glare. “Your name, then?”

“Thokk.”

“You will weep, Thokk, when Odin has dealt with you.”

But as he left, we both knew that there would be no negotiation: Hel’s compromise was not met, and that was the end of it. Still, I knew that I couldn’t stay in my house to be found out. So I returned to my natural form and headed out of Jotunheim for new temporary lodgings.

You remember that day, I’m sure. I don’t think anyone will ever forget it. The whole world was like a tapestry with its colored inks being washed away, the tears of everything streaking the landscapes into blurs. The world was drowning in its grief, accomplishing nothing except for a possible renewal—for the first time in history, all of creation had a common cause.

All of creation, except me.

Some days after the tears subsided, I decided to return to Asgard. I didn’t want to spend my days hiding, and it seemed obvious that Balder’s death wouldn’t be soon forgotten, so I decided to talk to Odin myself. So wise as he was, he could possibly understand how and why the incident occurred. If not, I could weave an interesting enough lie. I only knew that I couldn’t escape him forever, and I’d rather return to him of my own will and on my own terms, rather than being captured and dragged in by Heimdall or some other jerk.

When I arrived in Asgard…Let’s just say I’m glad that you were away visiting Hel and Jor. Do you know what those Aesir were doing? Celebrating. When I arrived, a long dinner table was set up for a feast. There was food, wine, music, and dancing. No, I’m dead serious, that’s exactly what I walked into. They were so busy “making merry”, that they didn’t even notice my arrival until I approached my usual seat at the other end of the table and asked, “So what are we celebrating?”

The music and laughter stopped. All eyes turned to me, including Odin’s.

“So?” I asked again.

Odin answered, “We are raising our spirits, after grieving Balder’s death.”

My face contorted as I disguised my contempt and sat with my feet propped up on the table. “Oh. Isn’t that nice? Can’t have any of the Aesir feeling unhappy, you know.”

I waited for Odin to give some order resulting in my capture and punishment. But all he said was, “I cannot turn you away, brother, but know that you are not welcome.”

At first, I couldn’t believe my luck. I rose from my chair to leave, free from judgment, but looking on the scene, I remained. “You’re feasting and you’re releasing me?” I laughed in my disbelief. “What, was Balder an illegitimate child? Were you angry at him for befriending me?”

“What’re you talking about?” Freya asked.

“I’m just trying to understand this,” I said. “Usually, following the death of a loved one, there’s a more substantial grieving period. Usually, solemn reverence joins with a desire for justice, to understand the cause of death.” I scoffed. “But here in Asgard, we can’t be displeased. Instead of learning from the unpleasantness of life and giving its due respect, we toss it aside and hide it with parties. We can’t assume responsibility for our mistakes—we can’t even admit that we make mistakes.”

“We have no mistakes to admit,” Freya said.

I burst a louder laugh. “Are you kidding? Where do I begin? How about with you, m’dear?” I raised my voice. “Is it a wonder to anyone else why Freya’s husband Odur has been away for so long?”

She curled her hands into fists. “That’s enough, Loki.”

“It’s because she slept with five different dwarfs, one after the other, to earn that lovely necklace she’s wearing. Yes, she traded her fidelity, her marriage, and her self-respect for a shiny hunk of rock!”

She feigned alarm and said, “You are nothing but lies!”

“Do you want me to invite the dwarfs to this jubilant party to tell everyone the same thing? I’m sure they could give the story with far better details…”

She rose and slammed her palms against the table, shrieking, “That’s enough!”

“Loki…” Heimdall warned.

“What’s that, Heimdall?” I asked. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yes: Leave.”

“Oh, you think I should leave Asgard. You forget, Ram Boy, this is my home. Where’s your home, Heimdall? Not Asgard.”

He jumped from his seat and banged his fist on the table. “Loki!”

“Is that all you can say? Wouldn’t you like to tell everyone about your less-than-noble heritage?”

Now Thor chimed in to caution me: “Loki, just stop before—”

“Oh, you’re trying to help me out now? Well, I don’t need your help, lunkhead, not now. How about back at that alehouse, when you discovered that the center of everyone’s asinine game could talk and laugh? Did you help then?”

“I stopped throwing things at Balder from that day on!”

“But you sat and watched everyone else do it! Think, Thor: There’s not a single Aesir who doesn’t respect you and fear you. Are you telling me it never entered that boulder brain of yours to actually do something?”

“Loki…” He tried to protest, but came up short.

“No, you had a public image to protect. It’s never about the people around you—it’s always about you.”

“That’s not true!”

“Let’s ask your daughter. I’m sure you remember your daughter, don’t you? Just in case, I’ll refresh your memory. She was in love with a dwarf—an all-around nice guy. What did you do when he came to you like a gentleman and asked to marry your daughter?”

Thor clenched his teeth. “Shut up.”

“You had him turned to stone! And why? Because you thought he was too puny. Doesn’t matter that your daughter would have been happy; you didn’t want a dwarf for a son-in-law. Has your daughter forgiven you, Thor? You don’t know? Oh, that’s right! She ran away from home, and you haven’t seen her since.”

Thor stood and brandished his hammer, shouting, “I’ll cleave your head from your neck!”

I just shrugged. “You can’t take a head without taking the neck, nitwit.”

“You want to see me try?!”

“Enough!” Odin pounded his staff against the ground. “Loki, you will leave immediately.”

I didn’t move. I just smiled crookedly and asked, “Aren’t you curious to find out what I know about you, brother? You must be. Curiosity is what cost you an eye.” I looked around the table at the other Aesir. “What has our wise-eyed Odin told you all about his competition with the Jotun called Vafthrudnir?”

I saw him grow rigid with alarm, and he began rambling. “Loki, you are charged with the death of Balder…”

I wouldn’t be interrupted; I shouted over him: “He and the giant had a battle of wits, you see…”

His volume increased to cover mine: “…an enemy to the Aesir, to Asgard, to the world…”

“…Vafthrudnir matched him question by question with ease…”

“Funfeng!” he bellowed.

Funfeng was a servant tending the feast. Upon Odin’s order, he grabbed my arm and tried to subdue me. I swung around and punched him in the throat, and as soon as he backed off to catch his breath, I formed into an eagle to fly high above them all. “I see how it is now!” I declared as I hovered above them. “You care more about protecting your own egos than you do about protecting your families. And you managed to drag me down to that level, too. Well, no more.” With that, I turned and flew out of Asgard, calling behind me: “Enjoy your party!”

CHAPTER TWELVE: TO WHERE WE ARE NOW

Before, I had decided not to hide from the Aesir’s revenge. But after the feast, it became my most fervent goal. I intended to find you, tell you to bring our sons Vali and Narfi from Asgard, and we would hide from the Aesir wherever we could—even in the realm of the dead with Hel, if necessary. After all they had said and done, I didn’t want the Aesir to feel justified in their behavior by blaming me—I was determined not to let them win this battle. And at the same time, I would protect my family from them and their warped, hypocritical values.

And, if all possible, I would find a way to free Fenrir.

As you well know, I never reached you. Almost as soon as I had left Asgard, Heimdall was right on my tail, riding his golden horse through the air. No amount of effort on my part could outrun that horse on land or air. My only escape was to dive into the forest, and for the few moments I was ahead of my pursuer, I formed into a salmon and plunked into the lake with the others. His horse wouldn’t set foot in the water, but that didn’t deter Heimdall. He was well prepared. From his saddlebag, he took out a net and cast it over the water. Were that any other net, I would have gotten away fine. But it was the net belonging to the sea goddess Ran—impossible to escape. The net ensnared me, and when he tugged it onto the shore, I had to form into myself again, or die of suffocation. Heimdall swung the net over his head, then threw it against the ground. My head struck the ground hard enough to make me dizzy. When my vision cleared again, Heimdall had me by my shirt collar, glaring murder.

“If Odin didn’t want you alive…” he seethed.

“…then you’d kill me with your breath, right?” I retorted.

Then he punched me in the jaw, felling me back into the net. He slung the net over his horse and towed me along back to Asgard—almost. We stopped at a field at the foot of the Bifrost Bridge, where everyone was assembled. I was only confused for only a second before I realized that it was against policy to cause death in Asgard. Clearly, they had something special in mind for me.

When Heimdall stood before the council of Aesir and poured me out of the net like a fisherman’s catch, my jaw bruised, everyone laughed.

“As always, I’m so glad I can amuse you,” I said dryly, testing the flexibility of my jaw.

The Aesir crowded around me for jeering purposes, until they parted ways for Odin. He announced, “Loki, you are found guilty of the death of my son Balder. You are a traitor to the Aesir, to your blood-brother, and to the vow you made.”

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “So what now? The spear, the hammer, both?”

Now, any normal person would reason to directly punish he who committed the crime, but I knew full well that, like myself, my blood-brother and father Odin was not of a normal turn of mind. He called to his servants, “Bring Vali and Narfi!”

Somehow, I didn’t think him capable of being that low—after throwing Jor into the sea, Hel into the underworld, and chaining Fenrir, he couldn’t possibly harm my sons Vali and Narfi; not the sons he respected and welcomed into Asgard and treated like nephews. Not the only children of mine to be treated as they deserved.

“Odin…” I warned. “This is between you and me. They have nothing to do with any of this!”

But he completely ignored me as he waved his arms at Vali and murmured various runes. Vali shouted in pain, and I jumped to help him, but Heimdall and Thor held me back. Then I watched as Vali sprouted fur all over his body, pointed ears, a tail—and a muzzle filled with fangs. When the transformation to a wolf was complete, he looked to his brother Narfi—but he obviously didn’t know his brother anymore. With a snarl, he pounced onto his brother and…

…

…I couldn’t watch. I was just…trying to tear myself away from Heimdall and Thor, and screaming at Odin. “I saved Balder! I saved him from a life without living! And as his father, you should have been the one to do something; you should have been the one to tell that damned mob to stop!”

I just kept screaming. I’d rather hear my own screaming that my son’s screams of agony, and I wanted to tell Odin everything he deserved to hear. I don’t…

…

…I don’t even remember all of what I said or did. I only remember that I wanted nothing more in the world than to tear out Odin’s eye, the eye that looked at me so disapprovingly…that eye that looked at me like…Heh. No, I couldn’t even really say. I mean, it looked like some kind of remorse, like he felt betrayed, or like…like he pitied me, or something. Yeah, well, whatever it was, I just wanted to reach out, and…

…Well, anyway, I couldn’t get near him. When my voice was getting hoarse, and my sons were both silent, Thor and Heimdall began binding me in chains—these chains. I know…I know they’re not really metal chains. Yeah…all natural material from my murdered son’s bowels…

…and people used to say I have a sick sense of humor…

They had to drag me down, all the way down to the underworld, and chained me to these three rocks (which, yes, the idiots named them, too). As though this all wasn’t bad enough, as a final touch, they positioned this snake right over my head, dripping this searing venom onto my face. At least, it would if you weren’t here to catch it in that bowl. They didn’t count on you being so loyal to me. Truth is, neither did I—I don’t know what’s in your head that ever made you love me, but I’m grateful for it.

But don’t worry; I won’t be strapped to these rocks forever, regardless of whatever ridiculous names they were given. You and I; we’ll both get out someday, and Odin and Heimdall and Thor and all the Aesir will get a reckoning from me and my children who still live. Then maybe, after it’s all through, the world will have gone through a great change. Maybe, then, it will actually be suitable and deserving of people like Balder.

And that is why.

Careful, you’re going to spill…Ah! That stings!

Hey…

…it burned through the chain…

The moon shall douse the sun

And darkness consume light;

Giants shall challenge gods

And both share in slaughter;

An axe age, a sword age,

No shield to quell the blow;

A wind age, a wolf age

Ere the world splits in two—

Ragnarok, the world’s end

To rattle ev’ry soul

The day that dread Loki

Is loosed from his bonds.

—Skuld, the seer of future fate

OTHER BOOKS BY MAIA JACOMUS

Laodamia

Kayin’s hometown of Shantiglen is destroyed when the king of a mage realm receives a prophecy—and grossly misinterprets it.

Ten years later, Kayin is the only remaining citizen, determined to have the town restored to its former honor, despite the impending return of the mage-king’s army.  Her hope for a future is assured by the arrival of the Cavalry, former citizens of Shantiglen who share the goal of defending the land against the mage-king.  Kayin combines her prophetic abilities with the Cavalry’s battle tactics to prepare for the mage-king’s return, discovering along the way the truth of friend, foe, and fate.

Zealandia

Adelaide Crofton is serious when it comes to history.  So when her professor take their class on an internship to find a hidden city of myth, she resents the effect it could have on her reputation.  But when a mysterious eclipse transports her to a wonderland of nonsense, she begins to wonder if Zealandia is fact or fiction.

A story filled with colorful settings, vibrant characters, and mad-cap humor!