Loki: Why I Began the End (4 page)

     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.