Loki: Why I Began the End (5 page)

     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.”