Loki: Why I Began the End (7 page)

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.”