Loki (8 page)

She put it out of her mind for the moment. She had seen him cast the runes several times, and each time he had been ultimately frustrated, unable to find anything out about the mason. She approached him, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder. “You have found nothing from the runes?”

“
Nothing.” He spoke the word as if it were a curse. “Whatever sorcery he hides behind is beyond my ability to pierce. If I could see it, then perhaps we could justify breaking the bargain. But without that knowledge, it must stand. And the wall is nearly finished. It will be only weeks or days till it is done.”

She leaned in, wrapping an arm around him. “If it is sorcery, you could consult with those who are adept at such things.”

He turned his head to stare at her, breaking the embrace. He knew who she meant. “I will not go to them.”

“
But the Vanir have access to sorcery that may help you find an answer. It is Freyja who stands to be lost. Surely she would be willing to use her sorcery to discover the mason's secret.”

“
If they had an answer, would they not have already gone to the Allfather? And what if they are the cause of this trouble somehow?”

A look of unease crossed her face. “You do not think that they could be in league with the mason? They would not betray Asgard.”

“
And why do you think so, wife? They have not been in our midst long enough to forget that we were once enemies, that they once used their magic to kill Aesir.”

“
But they are Aesir now, as well. They have been accepted by the Allfather.”

“
Or so he allows them to think. Why are you so ready to trust those who killed your kin?”

She looked down. “The war is over, my lord.”

“
For now. But can you be so sure that it will not begin anew? And what poison might they spread while they are in our midst? What plans are they perhaps spinning even now, plans that might mean the death of all the Aesir? Why do we suffer the enemy to live among us?”

She held her head down and did not respond.

He turned away from her. There were a few brief moments of silence where all she could hear was the slow rhythm of her own breathing.

He did not turn back to her when he spoke. “There are none here that I can consult with. The Allfather does not reveal what he knows of the present or future, and there are no others that have the necessary skill to help me discover the sorcery behind this mason.”

“
Is there another who could help? Someone not in Asgard?”

He turned to look at her, thoughts already brewing in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.” He trailed off, staring into space. “They would know. Why did it not occur to me before?”

“
Who is it, my lord?”

He walked to the door and pulled it open before pausing to look back. “Have the servants prepare my horse. I leave tonight.”

“
But my lord, where do you—” But he was out of the door before she could finish the question. As she moved to summon the servants the answer came to her, and her eyes went wide. They would know, of course. They would have the answer to the problem. But only the High One saw them, and he revealed little of what he knew.

It was said that they lived at the Well of Urd, but that place was far from Asgard. Even if Loki could find his way to them, Sigyn could not see why they would help him. She thought again about what he had said about Odin. What if she was wrong? What if the High One had a side to him that she had never seen before? What might that mean for her husband if Freyja were to be lost? Suddenly feeling despair wash over her, she sat down on the bed, put her head in her hands, and quietly sobbed.

The Wisdom of Mimir

Freyja's first journey to Asgard was unknown to all. Using her magic, she disguised herself as a witch and traveled to the land of the Aesir. In Odin's hall for the first time, she incensed the Aesir by talking again and again about her lust for gold, her need for gold. They could not stand to hear such greed, and so they raised their sharp spears and assaulted her.

She was riddled with spears and swords and arrows, and then she was hacked to pieces and thrown into the fire. Sitting by the hearth, the Aesir were satisfied that they had rid the Nine Worlds of her foulness. They were therefore quite surprised when she stepped out of the fire, whole and unharmed.

Angrily, they attacked her again and threw her back into the fire. Yet again, she strode out unharmed. Finally, she left the hall and made her way back to Vanaheim, a smile on her face at the trouble she had caused.

When the Vanir heard how she had been treated by the Aesir, they gathered their weapons and spoke their most powerful spells, eager to have revenge for the insults and injuries they had heaped upon Freyja. Sitting in his high seat, Odin could see all that the Vanir did. He sent his two ravens to bid the other Aesir to prepare for war.

And so began the first war in the world.

After much conflict, the gods tired of fighting and agreed to a truce. They exchanged leaders as a sign of good faith. Frey and Freyja went to live with the Aesir in Asgard, and became two of their most trusted and loved advisers. The Aesir never discovered Freyja's role in causing the war. For their part, the Aesir sent long-legged Honir and wise Mimir.

Honir and Mimir quickly became well-loved by the Vanir, for when they were together, their counsel was wise beyond measure. When they were apart, however, Honir could not be counted on to give such wise advice. He stammered and said nothing more wise than, “We shall think on it.”

The Vanir felt deceived by the Aesir, and meant to show those gods what they thought of their exchange. They came upon wise Mimir when he was alone, held him down, and cut his head off.

Odin gathered Mimir's head and spoke the sacred runes to give it life once again. It sits in his divining chamber, there to consult whenever the High One has a pressing need. Mimir was wise in life, but has become even more so in death . . .

Chapter Five

The severed head of his friend sat on Odin's knee, the High One's hand resting on top of it. Its eyes were open, but it appeared lifeless. There was no spark of consciousness, no flaring of nostrils, no twitch of the mouth. It had a waxy appearance which made it look almost unreal, although a closer inspection would reveal the tell-tale signs that it had once been attached to a body.

Odin had fetched the head himself after the Vanir had hacked it off of Mimir's body. They had left it at the Well of Urd, knowing that he would find it there. He had seen them behead his friend countless times in visions, had seen them deposit it at the well, thinking they would shock or anger him with this act of violence against his wisest friend. But they did not know that he had sent Mimir to them even after he had seen the visions. He had known exactly what would happen, and he had come to the well that day knowing exactly what he would find.

It was not difficult for him to chant the runes while smearing the head with sacred herbs, bringing it back to life and returning to it the ability to speak. He remembered well the look on his friend's face when he opened his eyes and said his first words. They were faint and raspy, but they were clear enough for Odin to understand. Odin had simply nodded once, then tucked his friend's head into a sack and returned with it to Asgard. Even now, Mimir's first words echoed back at him, a symbol of his curse and his responsibility.
“You knew,”
he had said.

“
Where is Loki now?” Odin asked.

The eyes moved slightly, but they did not appear to be seeing anything. They were like the eyes of a blind man. The mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for breath. Odin leaned in closer.

“
He plans . . .”
the head of Mimir said, his voice the sound of wind whispering.

“
What does he plan?”

Again the mouth gaped, but the eyes became more focused, looking around and taking in their limited perspective.

“
A journey . . .”

Odin sighed with impatience. Mimir's head was ever like this. His detachment from the Nine Worlds allowed him to see things that even Odin could not see, but he was never direct and straightforward. He spoke in hints and riddles, and it was tedious at times to get anything from him. Odin wondered if it was his way to get back at him in whatever slight way he could. But he could not refuse to answer altogether; the runes compelled him.

“
To the Norns?”

“
Yes . . .”

Odin nodded. He had seen that as well, but it was satisfying to have his vision confirmed. He stood and cradled the head, walking over to a pedestal in his chamber. He placed the head on the pedestal and stared up at the night sky. It was daytime outside, but here it was always night, and he could always see the star-filled sky when he looked up.

He looked back down at Mimir. “What will they tell him?”

“
Nothing . . . and everything . . .”

“
He will ask about the mason. What will they tell him?”

“
They share . . . the same . . . spark . . .”

“
They will tell him that?”

“
No . . . but he will . . . learn it . . .”

“
Will they tell him what the mason is?”

“
They are . . . one and . . . the same . . .”

Odin narrowed his eyes. “They will not tell him that.”

“
Yes . . . and no . . .

Odin looked up at the night sky above. The stars were said to be sparks from the flames of Muspelheim, that fiery realm on the outskirts of the Nine Worlds. He had placed them there himself, part of his creation of the Nine Worlds, or so the story went. He did not remember doing such a thing, but it was difficult to recall events that happened so long ago, especially when he was ever drifting forward and backward in time.

The events he had set in place when he accepted the mason's deal troubled him, even while he realized the necessity. He was the Allfather, had been thus for so long that he could only barely remember a time when he was not. The Aesir looked to him for guidance, and he was always there to provide it. And yet he was their enemy, although they did not know it. Indeed, they might never know it, although they might have an inkling when he ordered the armies of the Aesir outside the wall to confront the two massive armies bearing down on them.

But perhaps not. They were so accustomed to the unerring wisdom of the Allfather that most would be loathe to dispute even so questionable a decision. There must be a reason, they would say. There is a strategy that only the High One knows. There would be a reason, of course, but he would never explain it. Nor would any of them understand it if he did.

He did not need understanding from them, but his actions felt like a betrayal. No, he thought, they
are
a betrayal, but a necessary one. It was ironic that they found deceit and treachery in Loki's every word and deed, that they would condemn him for his actions, when he was merely a tool for the High One. In truth, Odin was their greatest enemy. Only a few would ever realize it, however. All others would be dead.

The World Tree Yggdrasil towered over all of creation. Its roots led down into the furthest regions of Niflheim, deep into the bowels of the underworld. It rose through Midgard, unseen by mortals who could not perceive its scale, and through the heavenly plane on which Asgard sat. Its branches spread out over all the Nine Worlds. It was the lifeblood of creation. Yggdrasil was there before the frost giant Ymir was killed and carved up, his body becoming the earth, trees, and sky. It was there even before Ymir’s body was formed from a frozen block of ice. Yggdrasil always was, and always would be.

Loki had seen it once, and it had overwhelmed him with its majesty and size. It had been long ago, before the wars, and he had been searching the horizon for something long forgotten. As the sun set he squinted his eyes against its rays, and for a short moment he glimpsed the enormity of the World Tree. Its branches stretched further and higher than his sight could travel, and its trunk plunged down to Midgard and beyond. In the briefest of instants, Loki had felt its towering presence as a living thing, as a fundamental part of creation. While the sight of it had faded with the years, the feeling that had washed over him had remained as powerful as when he had first experienced it.

That feeling guided him toward Yggdrasil even now, where he would hopefully find the Norns. They would know of the mason. He was not at all certain they would tell him anything, but his own chanting of the runes had been fruitless, and he did not trust either Frey or Freyja to tell him anything of worth.

As he was immersed in thought, the tree seemed to come upon him at once.

It was dark everywhere, but not the dark of nighttime. It was not cold enough to be night, and as he looked up at the sky he could see sunlight desperately trying to pierce the tangled and intertwining branches of the tree. He was in the shadow of Yggdrasil, although it was strange that he had not seen it in the distance before suddenly coming upon it.