Loki (22 page)

“
He was our kin?”

The two were plainly finished with the conversation. “Enough of this. What do we do with Ymir’s body?”

Why was he being posed this question? But he knew the answer as well. Bones, teeth, hair, all could be used for something. He opened his mouth to answer, but the image faded.

There was great pain in his side. He found that he could not move his body, and that even his arms were restrained above his head. He could just move his neck so that he could see his side. The head of a spear was stuck inside him, and blood flowed from the gaping wound. He was unclothed, and so far above the ground that he could only see vast landscapes and the features of the land below. He remembered this happening, was certain that it had happened in the past. It was Yggdrasil, his sacrifice to gain knowledge and wisdom.

He was weak. He did not know how long he had been on the tree. Before he could question further, the scene shifted again.

Balder was speaking. He was making a complaint against someone. They were in Gladsheim. He was in the present again. Loki stood before him, before them all, waiting for an answer.

The Sly One had done his bidding well. The giant Thiazi had been slain, and Asgard’s safety had been assured. But that was not why he had sent Loki to Thrymheim. In his mind’s eye, he saw again the procession of giants pressing down upon Asgard, the smoke-obscured figure in the rear, the leader of all the armies of chaos floating on the ship above. Standing at the bow, peering over the edge, Loki looked down at his army with vengeance plainly etched across his face.

It was as Odin had intended. It was not for him to deny the fate that crawled ever closer. Did his sacrifice not show him clearly the preordained destiny that awaited them all?

He rose from his chair to address the assembled Aesir. “You have cause for recriminations against Loki, and I must see those charges answered, for you are all my children, and I am the Allfather. But as children, you see no further than the hand in front of your face and think you are wise. None of you can know the destiny that I have seen, have already experienced, and so none of you are fit to pass judgment here.”

He could see Loki’s eyes and chin raise slightly, anticipating an answer to the charges laid before him. Even he, the most crafty of all the gods, was but a fawn in a vast wood, thinking the copse of his birth to be the entirety of his world. In another time, Odin may have felt some measure of pity from his manipulations, but he was far beyond that emotion. All he felt was the burning necessity to answer fate’s summons.

“
Loki, you have served Asgard and the Aesir, and you have received poor treatment as reward. It would be fitting that you be given the respect that has been lacking.”

A slow smile crept onto Loki’s face.

Odin felt a momentary pity for what he must do, but it was quickly gone, to be replaced by the certainty that the actions he took were correct.

“
I cannot, however, bestow that respect on one who is not truly one of us.” The smile on Loki’s face disappeared. “You are not Aesir, nor have you ever been one. You are a son of Jotunheim, and so are an enemy to Asgard and all who dwell here. I banish you from this realm forevermore. You shall not set friendly foot on Asgard again.”

Even the other assembled gods were speechless.

Loki stared, open-mouthed, but Odin offered nothing but a blank return stare. Slowly, the surprised expressions on the faces of the Aesir were replaced with dawning realization. They had not expected such a pronouncement, but now that the truth had been revealed—that Loki’s veins ran with the blood of enemies who were prophesied to destroy Asgard—it allowed them to finally comprehend Loki’s manner.

“
Allfather, you cannot banish me from Asgard.” Loki’s reply felt weak, as if the full consequences of Odin’s pronouncement had yet to be realized.

“
You are no more one of us than the mason was.”

Loki was visibly shocked by the comparison. He could barely find words. “But Allfather, I—”

“
No. I am not Allfather to you. To you I am now the Terrible One, the One-Eyed God of Those That Live Above, the Gray Bringer of Death. I am eternally an enemy, and will slay you without hesitation if I chance upon you. Your name will forever be unclean. The skalds will sing songs of your treachery and deceit, and call you Trickster and Father of Lies. You will be known as the Bringer of Chaos, and all who harbor you will be our enemies. I will amass armies of Aesir and Einherjar and Valkyrie to destroy you and your kind, and I will fight you at Ragnarok. No longer are we kin or kind; I and all other Asgardians renounce you here and forevermore.”

Loki no longer stared in surprise. Instead, his fists were clenched and his eyes were fire, burning into Odin with clear and obvious rage. He spoke, his voice low and filled with threat. “You—all of you—” he turned his head both ways to lock eyes with each of them briefly before returning his attention to Odin. “Will regret this day. I swear that this will not be the last you see of me.” He turned and angrily strode out the large wooden doors.

Odin knew that Loki was right. They would see him again. He had done this thing, had set events into motion that could not be changed. Loki’s vengeance, crafted by Odin, would fall on Asgard, and they would all pay the price for the decision he had made. He would not speak of it, of course. It was his burden to carry. The cost of knowledge was heavy indeed, but it must be paid. Even Odin was not immune to the inevitable hand of fate.

He closed his eye and saw Loki walk across Bifrost. As the Sly One slowly disappeared from view, Odin felt a momentary pang of regret. It was gone soon enough. When Ragnarok came, there would be time enough for regret. He opened his eye, stood up from his chair, and addressed the stunned Aesir sitting in council with him.

Loki’s Children

The Sly One, after having been banished from Asgard, took to spending long nights in Jotunheim with the giantess Angrboda in her hall. She was beautiful to look at, although her beauty did not compare to that of Freyja or golden-haired Sif. Loki had had enough of goddesses, and had even forsaken his own wife, Sigyn, in favor of the fair giantess.

Her hall had been carved from the solid rock of a mountainside in just two days, and was large enough to fit an army in its main hall, with room left over. But it was not in the main hall that the two spent most of their time.

After many a long night, Angrboda felt a quickening inside her, and months later she gave birth to three children. Loki and Angrboda’s eyes were blinded by the love that parents feel when cradling their newborn children, else they would have realized that the creatures that had sprung forth from her loins were monstrous indeed.

The first to come out was covered in fur and had a long snout and tail. They named the pup Fenrir, which means 'wolf from below', and he eagerly suckled at his mother’s teat. The second to come out was hairless and limbless and covered in scales. They named the hatchling Jormungand, meaning 'mighty wand', for they saw that he was destined to grow to an immense size and strength. The third was a beautiful daughter from the waist up. Below that, however, she was blackened and corpse-like. They named her Hel, which means ‘covered up’, for their first instinct was to cover her lower half so that no one could see it.

It was not long before word carried to Asgard about Loki’s three children. The gods met with the Norns at the Well of Urd to ask their counsel.

“
The wolf will eat the sun and the father,” said Urd.

“
The snake will swallow the lightning,” said Skuld.

“
The corpse will bring forth legions,” said Verdandi.

All three Norns agreed that they were evil, and that they would mark the downfall of the gods.

“
They will herald the end,” said Urd.

“
They will arise at Ragnarok,” said Skuld.

“
They will destroy the best among you,” said Verdandi.

The gods were alarmed and decided to take action to prevent the prophecies of the Norns from coming true. They stole away during the night into Jotunheim. Unseen due to Odin’s magic, they burst into Angrboda’s hall while she was sleeping. Before she could open a single lid they had bound and trussed her. Loki was nowhere to be found, and the gods were happy they did not have to contend with him, for it is often said that a father is most furious in the defense of his own home.

Odin came upon the snake first. He pulled it from its cradle and hurled it with all of his strength. Jormungand flew out of the hall, across Midgard, and landed in the ocean at the edge of the world, where he sunk down to the bottom and fed on passing fish. Unmolested and more and more angry as time passed, he grew to an enormous size, eventually encircling the entirety of Midgard under the sea and, thinking his own tail was food, sank his teeth into it. He would rise at Ragnarok to take his vengeance on the Aesir.

Odin came upon Hel second. He gasped with disgust when he saw her decayed lower half, and hurled her with all of his strength downward. She burst through the floor of the hall and then the stone of Midgard, eventually landing in the underworld known as Niflheim. There she made the dead her servants, and they erected a hall for her on the edge of a sheer cliff. At Ragnarok she would send forth an army of the dead to take her vengeance on the Aesir.

Odin came upon the third child, the Fenris Wolf, and was about to lay hands on him when Tyr spoke up.

“
Have pity for this one, at least, Allfather. He is but a pup.”

“
You have heard the prophecy of the Norns. He cannot be allowed to grow.”

But Tyr felt for the small creature. It did not look monstrous as had the other two. He said, “I will care for him in Asgard. I will feed him and ensure that he does not have reason to take vengeance on the Aesir.”

Odin relented, and the gods went back to Asgard with Fenrir in tow . . .

Chapter Fourteen

Freyja stood gazing at her image in the mirror. She spent much of each day going over and over her face and body, taking in her replenished beauty, but always with a hidden fear that it might fade again. The memory of her crinkled flesh and sagging breasts was a physical pain to her, sending shudders through her body and nearly bringing her to tears. Letting her robe fall to the floor, she examined and re-examined herself in the mirror from all possible angles, looking for any blemish, any imperfection that may be a sign of the hideousness that she had endured. As ever, she found none. She was pure physical perfection, in face and body, and yet the pall that hung over her because of Loki’s misdeeds could not be erased from her mind.

She drifted to the still pool at the edge of her room. Freyja knelt down and trailed her fingers in the silvery water in slow circles, attempting to bring an image up. She saw many things—her home in Vanaheim, Odin in his chambers with Mimir’s head slowly issuing dire portents, Heimdall vigilant as ever at Bifrost. Jumbled images arose along with some clearer ones, images that spanned the expanse of the Nine Worlds. Some things she knew and could name—the light elves of Alfheim weaving among the trees, the dwarfs of Nidavellir holed up in their underworld home, busily crafting tools and weapons. But she saw more that she did not know—quick glimpses of a face of fire, an ice-white corpse, eons old, stretching for miles. She turned from the pool and stood to go.

She was drawn back by swirling images that danced just inside the waters, hinting at secrets. She knelt back down and brought her face close to the water, peering deeply into its depths as the images unfolded.

She saw a girl with raven hair. She was beautiful, but it was not the beauty of a goddess. Rather, her beauty was that of a warrior, well-toned with darkened skin from much time in the sun. She lay on a bed, and her face alternated between violent spasms of intense pain and periods of utter exhaustion. Her brow was drenched with sweat, and her enormously swelled belly was the source of her pain.

The image remained, so unlike the fleeting nature of most images in the pool, and Freyja was transfixed. After a brief rest, the contractions began again, and the girl visibly contorted, bringing her hand into the scene shown in the pool. She clutched the hand of a child tightly, perhaps an older sibling standing by his or her mother, witnessing the entry into life of a new brother or sister. By the size of the belly, Freyja thought it likely that there might be twins.

The child, seen only by the firm grip on the mother’s hand, was resilient despite his young age. Freyja marked it to be a boy by the lines and wear of the hand, and he showed no signs of letting go.

Freyja continued to watch the intimate scene. Lost in a moment that was sacred to her and all of the Vanir, the introduction of a new life, she did not question the pool's focus on this one particular event, even though it was rare to remain on one scene for long.

The woman—Freyja could not consider her a girl any longer—continued to suffer the throes of contractions, but the ferocity of her expression was striking. Freyja could see scars of battle across her, so she was accustomed to pain. Her reaction to the quickening children within her marked this pain as far more intense than any she had endured before. Freyja found herself admiring this mortal woman, and she drew closer to the pool.