In his office, nearly 48 hours after the elves made their play for Cera, Steve checks his email and frowns.
“Still nothing from Loki or the lady?” asks Thor.
Steve glances at the large man sitting on his desk, fingers twitching on his hammer. For a minute there is a disconnect in his brain, a feeling of being disembodied, or in a dream. There is an alien in Steve’s office, attempting to engage him in conversation.
Shaking away the feeling of surrealism, Steve says, “No.”
Eyes sliding away, Thor nods and stands. “We should join the others then in the ready room.”
“Yes,” says Steve, the feeling of surrealism returning as they step out the door and walk down the hall. Oddly, the FBI is working with the National Guard relatively well, and that is strange enough. They’re also working with an alien. There are protocols for aliens—protocols involving confinement and white suits. But somehow those protocols have all been thrown out the window. Or maybe they haven’t. Maybe in a few days someone in the FBI will make a stupid decision and the white coats will come for Thor. But for now, Chicago, the country, and probably the world is still reeling, trying to take in all that’s going on—reacting, and not thinking. And for now, Thor’s killing a lot of trolls.
As they step into the ready room, agents and Guardsmen edge out of Thor’s way. Jameson, standing off to the side, straightens and looks decidedly uncomfortable. Bautista, standing in front of a map, looks to Thor and says, “Ah, good you’re here.” His voice is calm and even, as though having an alien once worshipped as a god on his team is the most natural thing in the world. He’s probably part of the reason the city is doing as well as it is. The general rolls with the punches—and Jameson seems a bit intimidated by the man—or maybe he just feels outnumbered. Whatever the reason, Jameson has stayed blessedly out of the way.
“There have been sightings of a Loch Ness-like creature in the lake,” says Bautista, eyes still on Thor. Steve snaps from his reverie. Bautista gives a grim smile. “Ordinarily I’d think it was a hoax … ”
Thor’s brow furrows. “It is not the monster of Loch Ness. I killed him centuries ago.”
Steve blinks. Around him eyes go wide. The ambient hum of conversation dies in the room.
Looking somewhat hurt, Thor says, “Certainly you’ve heard of the myth of myself and the sea serpent?”
Steve has no idea what Thor is talking about, so he improvises. “And we are very grateful.”
Thor beams.
“About this sighting—” says Bautista.
Thor scratches his beard. “It could very well be a sea serpent … or a common wyrm. I shall take my chariot and my hammer and dispatch it!”
Bautista stares at Thor for a moment, and then nods, and raises an eyebrow at an aide. Picking up a phone, the aide says, “I’m warning the Coast Guard about the … ah … sea serpent … and,” His eyes go to Thor. “ … and Thor.”
With another curt nod, Bautista raises a hand to the map. The Loop is dotted with red push pins; each one represents a troll. The General traces a hand along a snaking line of pins that follow Wacker Drive. Marker of the north and west boundaries of the Loop, the drive consists of Upper Wacker which runs below ground, and Lower Wacker, that runs beneath.
“There is most likely a World Gate in Lower Wacker. If we can catch a troll emerging, we may be able to seal the gate on this side.” The General taps the map with the side of his hand. “Mayor Ronnie is still adamant that we not seal all ramps leading to Lower Wacker.”
Steve looks at the pins, each marked with a time of first sighting. “Is it my imagination, or is the rate of troll sightings increasing?”
One of the aides, laptop in front of him says, “It appears that way, but statistically the sample is too small.”
Steve’s jaw twitches. The statement is scientifically accurate, but damn lies and statistics …
“Agent Rogers,” Bautista says. “Has there been any contact from Miss Lewis or Loki?”
“No, my staff and I have sent her numerous emails—”
From across the room, Jameson says, “You should desist trying to contact her. Anything to her will be intercepted by Loki. The email from her is either a fraud, a sick trick to make us think he is on our side, or he’s kidnapped her and she’s too naive to realize it!”
“He rescued her!” says Thor. He sputters. “The myths of him kidnapping Idunn are false! That was Laugaz!”
Steve turns to Jameson. “I haven’t divulged any confidential information.” Not even that Loki is suspected as the orchestrator of the mess in Chicago.
Jameson huffs. “This is his plan to distract us so he can take the World Seed.”
The General shakes his head. “A poor scheme. We’ve doubled the watch around the World Seed.”
One of Bautista’s aides says quietly, “Maybe he is just opening gates to cause chaos?”
“Trolls can open gates on their own,” Steve says sharply. “They don’t need Loki’s help.”
Thor snorts. “And these are new gates. Loki can’t create gates, only exploit them.”
Pointedly ignoring Thor, Jameson’s eyes narrow at Steve. “Why do you insist on defending him?”
“Why do you insist on implicating him?” Steve snaps, and instantly regrets letting himself be pulled into needless sniping.
Jameson’s nostrils flare.
“He is your best hope for understanding your city’s latest rash of unfortunate incidences,” says Thor.
Trying to regain the high ground, Steves says, “I agree with Thor.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to Steve. Most stare at him like he is the alien in the room. Jameson’s gaze is openly furious. Thor’s smiling, as though he’s proud of him. The General’s gaze is the most neutral. Steve meets it head on. Turning from him, the General says, “I want you on the next patrol of Lower Wacker, Agent Rogers. The team you chose to work with is waiting for you downstairs.”
“Yes, Sir,” says Steve. ADUO agents are teaming up with the Guard patrols to lend their expertise with magic to the Guards’ manpower.
Bautista nods, “You’re dismissed.”
A few minutes later, Steve stands at the exit to HQ.
Sergeant Johnston stands at the front door. “Ready, Sir?” Johnston is in his mid-thirties, but the lines in his forehead make him look much older. He’s built like a fire plug, and oozes competency. Next to him is Corporal Kane; he’s younger than Johnston, but looks older than his twenty eight years as well. Time under the Iraqi sun will do that to you. When Steve chose his fireteam he made sure to go for combat veterans. These two are Marines.
Steve nods at Johnston and Kane.
Johnston tilts his head, “No Thor? I heard you were working with him … ”
“Not this time,” Steve says, not really thinking about it. “He’s off looking for a giant snake … be glad we’re not with him.”
Johnston frowns but opens the door for Steve. Steve steps out—right into the gauntlet of the press.
As they cross the sidewalk towards the waiting Humvee, flashbulbs immediately go off in Steve’s face. Johnston and Kane start pushing people out of Steve’s way, and everyone is shouting at once.
“Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!” someone shouts, using his old military rank. “How long do you think the state of emergency will last?”
“Will the governor allow assistance from the Wisconsin or Indiana Guard?”
“Is it true that a troll was just shot down on Lower Wacker Drive?”
“Are they the result of government testing?”
“Is this the zombie apocalypse?”
As Johnston steps into the vehicle, Steve turns around and shouts, “No comment.” Just before he follows the sergeant into the Humvee, Steve looks up at the Chicago Board of Trade. It’s completely cordoned off. When Cera’s prison impacts the foundations, the building will be empty. Exhaling deeply, he thanks God for small favors and ducks into the Humvee. To the woman at the wheel he says, “Van Buren and Wacker—do you know where that is?”
Hitting the gas, the woman says, “Hey, South Side Irish do wander North sometimes.”
Kane snorts. “What MacAuley means to say is, yes. But don’t ask Jarrett to drive.”
Steve tilts his head to Jarrett, the last member of the team in the car. He’s African-American, but a little lighter than Steve. He shrugs. “I’m from Glenview.”
“And working on a degree in IT!” says MacAuley.
Gripping a hand rest as MacAuley takes a sharp turn, Johnston chuckles. “You are the whitest boy in this car, Jarrett.”
Grinning good naturedly, Jarrett says, “Well, I guess the Swede would know.”
Steve finds his heart lightening a bit at the easy camaraderie. He misses that about the Marine Corps. Misses how guys in the field use humor to cover up fear and uncertainty. MacAuley makes another sharp turn onto VanBuren and guns it. The street ahead is almost empty, since residents and businesses were told to evacuate. Steve sees MacAuley’s eyes go to the rearview mirror. She groans. “The press is following us.”
Johnston looks at the roof. “Too bad we don’t have a gun on top of this Hummer,” the sergeant says, using the casual slang for Humvee. “We could aim it at them.” Jarrett shakes his head. “The press was better controlled in Iraq.”
Steve agrees. The press here is out of control … they need an embed program, they need to have restricted access. But everything in Chicago has happened too fast.
Inclining his head to some of the weapons in the cab, Jarett says, “We could open up the back of the Hummer and stroke those menacingly.”
Steve eyes the M4s that have been outfitted with M203 single-shot grenade launchers. They’ve run out of plastic explosive-laced goat meat. M4s are the replacements for the old M16s Steve trained with. By itself, an M4 will only annoy a troll, but a grenade can do some damage. A grenade won’t kill the beasts outright, but they can knock them over, slow them down, and wound them enough that a clean shot to the eyes or mouth is easier.
In front, MacAuley snickers and then calls out, “Shit!” as a black shadow nearly collides with the windshield.
“What was that?” says Johnston.
“That was some big fucking crow!” says Kane.
Steve sighs. “It’s a raven. There are two. They’ll probably share annoying commentary as soon as we step out of the Hummer. Just ignore it.”
“Huginn and Muninn?” says Johnston, blue eyes going to Steve.
Steve nods. “Damn things follow me everywhere.”
Sergeant Johnston starts playing with something on his chest. “Sir, Odin’s messengers are following you?”
There’s something off in his tone. Something fawning. It makes Steve very uncomfortable. An awkward silence settles in the Humvee and then Kane shakes his head. “Trolls, elves, giant snakes, talking crows … I hope they catch that Loki guy before this town completely goes to shit.”
Steve looks up. “What do you know about Loki?”
Kane blinks and shrugs. “Just what people are saying.”
“What people? What are they saying?” says Steve.
“You know,” says Jarrett. “Just people.”
“I think it was even on CNN,” says Johnston.
“What’s on CNN?” says Steve.
“That Loki’s causing all this,” says MacAuley matter-of-factly.
Johnston straightens. “Makes sense if Thor is real, evil would be real too.”
Steve tilts his head. “I don’t believe in evil.”
Jarrett whistles low. “With all this chaos going down?”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, Steve says, “There is no evidence that Loki is responsible for this … ” He waves a hand at the city outside the Hummer window. “This chaos has another source, and the only person who might be able to figure it out is Loki.”
MacAuley’s eyes go to the rear view mirror. Kane and Jarrett exchange glances.
Johnston tilts his head and stares at Steve. “Whatever you say.” Giving a shrug, the sergeant’s face goes blank. He lifts his hand from on his chest, and Steve briefly sees a tiny silver hammer on a chain before Johnston slips it beneath his armor.
Steve’s eyes narrow. Damn it. A pagan. His jaw goes tight. Lewis had told him that a lot of the pagan community believed Loki was the pagan equivalent of the devil, even though, in her words, “I don’t think that the Vikings had a concept of evil, per se.”
He shakes his head. There aren’t that many pagans in the world. What’s worse is that the rank and file believe Loki is the bad guy. That’s going to make working with Loki—if they can find him, and he agrees to help—that much harder.
Up ahead he sees the sandbags on the ramp to Lower Wacker that mark a checkpoint. MacAuley slows the Hummer as a Guardswoman steps forward and raises her hand. As MacAuley lowers the window and gives her their identification Steve checks his email again. Still no word from Amy.
He looks towards the darkness of Lower Wacker. They’re on their own. His jaw tightens. And Miss Lewis is on her own, too … wherever she is.
x x x x
After the hotel’s restaurant, the Indian place Loki and Amy eat at is a hole in the wall and completely unpretentious. It’s a nice change.
Everyone is speaking French or some variety of Indian dialect. Loki can only give her the ability to understand languages he’s fluent in; not languages he understands due to magic, and he doesn’t speak French or Hindi apparently. But even without translation, Amy catches the word “Chicago” a few tables away uttered in somber tones and her stomach clenches. She puts down her steaming cup of chai tea. She still hasn’t checked her email.
“We should go back to the hotel,” says Loki. They’re sitting next to each other at the table and Amy turns her head to face him.
Finishing off some sticky sweet balls of galub jamon, Loki licks his fingers and gives her a wink.
“I want to see a little bit more of the city.” She’s in Paris and has no idea if she’ll ever be here again … maybe she could check her email at a kiosk.
Giving her a wicked grin, Loki says, “Why? It’s quite dull lately. No plague filling the streets with bodies, no guillotine, no Nazis marching beneath the Arc De Triomphe … ”
“Well, it’s exciting to me,” says Amy, her breath quickening. She wants to go back to the hotel … and yet she doesn’t. It’s a little frightening, whatever they have. She feels like she’s losing herself.
Dropping a hand to her knee Loki whispers. “Compromise, Amy.” The hand darts up her thigh, ghostly soft, and back down to her knee again. “I let you pick out this restaurant.”
Amy shivers and the hand creeps up her thigh again and begins doing interesting, distracting things; for a moment she can’t figure out what he’s talking about. “You were the one who wanted Indian,” she says.
Tone playful, he says, “Pffftttt … but I would never have picked a vegetarian restaurant.” He drops his lips to her ear. “But you were suffering from vegetarian guilt, so I compromised.” Looking to the window, he adds, “Besides, it’s getting late.”
Amy gazes out at the dark street, wanting to move his hand, and not wanting to. “Let’s go dancing,” she says. It’s a normal thing people do when it’s ‘late.’
Loki snorts. “I won’t participate in what passes for dancing in this era.” His nose wrinkles in disgust. “So vulgar.”
Amy rolls her eyes. For someone who is massaging her thigh in public, Loki has some odd quirks of prudishness. She taps her finger on her tea cup and then opens her eyes wide. “You dance the swing … ”
Loki takes a sip of tea. “ … and the waltz, too.” He winks, “I even dance the tango, but I’d only do that at the hotel.”
Swatting his hand away, she smiles. “This is Paris. They have something for everyone here. We’ll just ask the waiter—” Raising a hand, she gestures for the staff’s attention.
Loki’s hand slides right back to her thigh and starts making little circles where he really, really, shouldn’t.
Amy takes a quick breath and glares at him, but it does feel good and no one is looking and—
“No,” says Amy, picking up his hand. Speaking in a voice too confident to be her own, and fighting a smile, she says, “Dancing first. Then hotel.” She can’t believe she’s having this conversation in a restaurant. She can’t believe she doesn’t really mind.
Loki squeezes her fingers. “Hotel. Sex. Then dancing.”
“Dancing now,” says Amy, tipping her chin and trying to take on an air of authority, even though her lips are threatening to pull into a grin. “Sex later.”
Loki frowns. It’s at that moment that Amy realizes the restaurant has gone quiet.
The waiter is standing in front of the table. “No dancing,” he says.
Amy looks up. The waiter’s Indian, and thin; his eyes are wide, his hands are shaking. He looks absolutely petrified with fear. “No dancing,” he says again. Eyes locked on Amy’s, he lets loose a torrent of frantic French.
Beside her Loki’s mouth drops, and then he starts laughing so hard his head nearly bangs against the table.
“What is he saying? What is he saying?” Amy whispers, looking around at the restaurant patrons all staring at her.
Biting his lip, as though he’ll burst out laughing again at any moment, Loki says, “He says that you should take me back to the hotel and have sex with me.”
Amy’s face reddens. She looks around the restaurant. Everyone is staring at her and Loki.
The waiter says something in French again. He starts bowing and holding his hands together like he’s making a prayer.
“He begs you to do it,” Loki says, the laughter in his voice fading fast.
Amy’s eyes slide to Loki. He is staring at the waiter, his brow furrowed. And then it hits her. “Loki,” she whispers. “You’ve gone blue again.”
Around the restaurant there are screams as little bursts of flame flare up everywhere.
“Please!” says the waiter in English, yelling to be heard above the din. Sweat glistens on his brow.
“Amy, I can hear them,” Loki says, his voice a hiss.
“Hear who?” says Amy.
Voice ragged, he says, “I have to get out of here.”
Standing up, Loki reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Throwing it on the table he says, “Pay them. I’ll meet you outside.” He walks quickly from the restaurant, little fires flaring up in the food, table cloths, and clothes in his wake.
Amy swallows and opens the wallet.
“No!” says the waiter holding up his hands. “No! Please! Just no dancing!”
Amy stares at him for only a moment, then she stands from her chair and bolts to the door. As she does she passes a picture on the wall—a picture of a blue god.
Outside she finds Loki pacing, ginger haired again. He grabs her arm and starts pulling her down the street. “They’re in my head. Why are they in my head?” His voice is thick and desperate.
He’s not really asking her, but she answers anyway. “Because they think you’re Shiva, and when Shiva dances … ”
Dropping her arm, Loki stops and stares at her. “What?”
Loki knows so much, why doesn’t he know this?
“When Shiva dances the world ends,” she whispers.
Loki takes a long breath.
Amy gives him a small smile she hopes is wry. “Sometimes Shiva’s wife … ” She looks away embarrassed with the comparison. “Sometimes she would distract him from ending the world with sex.”
Amy glances up. Loki is staring down in her direction, but she doesn’t feel like he’s really seeing her. He’s got the small white book in his hand, and he’s idly rifling the corner. It’s the same book that Lopt and Laugaz had. Lopt who in human myths was Loki. And Laugaz, ‘blazing one’—she’d bet that’s another one of Loki’s pseudonyms, too.
She looks back at the restaurant. She doesn’t know much about the Hindu religion, but she knows reincarnation is a Hindu thing. Her mind races right out her mouth. “Are you Shiva, Loki?”
Tilting his head, Loki narrows his gaze at her. He huffs a deep breath, and slips the book into his pocket. “No, I … ” And then his mouth drops open but no sound comes out. Bowing his head, he puts his face in his hands.
“It’s okay if you are,” she says quickly. “He’s not actually a bad guy … I mean, I think the Hindu’s think he’s a pretty good guy … ”
Loki snorts. “You’ve seen me dance with your grandmother. The world did not end.”
Amy’s brow furrows. “But you did light some candles … and in Nordic myths you caused earthquakes when you were in the cave, and you end the world when you escape—”
Raising his head, he glares at her. “I didn’t cause earthquakes while I was in the cave, Amy. And I’ve been out for quite some time. The world has not ended.”
“Oh. But you were there … ” Tied to rocks, with snake venom dripping on his face. “I’m sorry.”
He tilts his head and rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t as bad as your myths implied.”
Amy lets out a breath. “You told me once it was for 200 years.”
Loki sighs. “Not so long for someone who has lived a millennia.”
Amy keeps going. “You went there for killing Baldur, but Thor said that Hothur killed Baldur, and even if you helped, Thor said Baldur deserved it!”
Loki’s head snaps in her direction. “Thor said that?”
Amy nods.
Shaking his head, Loki looks away. For a long moment he is quiet. And then he says, “Do you feel like walking?”
For a heartbeat Amy stands stock still. She is overwhelmed, completely over her head.
… but Loki is in even deeper than she is, isn’t he?
“Sure,” she says, slipping her arm into his. He doesn’t pull away.
In a tired voice he says, “In some ways, Amy, my time in the cave was the best experience of my life.” His mouth twists. “And I’m not sure … I may have even deserved it.”
Amy swallows. “What happened?”
Loki chuckles. “I got very drunk and went to a party.”
x x x x
Loki awakes to the feel of cold stone beneath his cheek and the taste of vomit in his mouth.
“You’re awake,” Sigyn says, her voice cracking slightly.
Loki brings a hand to his eyes and moans. “Help me get to the bed.”
“We’re in the tower, Loki!” Sigyn snaps.
Loki opens his eyes and looks around. He is surrounded by gray flagstone. To one side is a metal door. There is an unlit torch on one wall. Shivering, he concentrates and tries to set it aflame. Nothing happens and he curses. Of course, the tower blocks his magic.
“I told you not to leave last night!” says Sigyn.
Loki turns to his wife. She is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her face is uncharacteristically streaked by tears. Sigyn never cries.
“What happened?” Loki says.
“You don’t remember?” says Sigyn
Groaning, Loki lifts himself up onto his elbows as events of the night before slowly return to him. Everyone in court except Loki and Sigyn had been invited to Aegir’s hall for a feast. Loki is blamed by the court for Baldur’s death, even if Heimdall declares Loki was not near the battlefield when Hothur made the killing blow. Thor says Loki should make a point to ‘shed manly tears’ when Baldur’s name is mentioned, but Loki couldn’t even manage that at the funeral. Neither could Sigyn, but she wore a veil. Thor cried; but he says it was out of sympathy for Frigga and Odin, not for Baldur.
Loki scowls. Thor didn’t go to the feast either; he’d come to Loki and Sigyn’s home instead, claiming Sigyn’s cooking was better and the company better, too … which was true on both counts. The three of them had eaten and drunk and then just after midnight Thor had left. Loki remembers getting in a brief shouting match with Sigyn, and then calling Fenrir to his side and going to Aegir’s hall.
Pulling himself up into sitting position, Loki almost gags. Collecting himself he says, “After leaving the house last night everything is a blur.”
Sigyn straightens, her hands go to her skirts. “Loki. They say you used magic to kill Fimafing.”
Loki blinks. Fimafing is Aegir’s servant and cook. Loki shakes his his head, his memory slowly returning. “No, no, no, I remember telling him his cooking was so bad he should be shot by a Valkyrie—which is true, you know it—”
Sigyn shoots him a death glare.
Holding up his hands, Loki says, quickly, “But I didn’t kill him.” Blinking, Loki looks away. He doesn’t think so, anyway.
“And Fenrir killed Tyr,” says Sigyn. She swallows. “And then Odin killed Fenrir.”
Loki’s hand trembles. “Fenrir is dead?” The wolf was like his and Aggie’s second child.
Sigyn sighs. “Yes, Loki … and he was your wolf, so you can be tried for his actions.
Loki swallows. “I seem to recall Tyr threatening to kill me … ” He thinks. Sniffing, he says, “Never did like the man.”
“He did threaten you!” says Sigyn.
“Well, self defense then,” says Loki. “Or wolf defense. Or something. There must have been witnesses, it will never hold up in the court of the Diar.”
Jaw tight, Sigyn says, “He threatened you after you insulted everyone in the hall. Including Odin!”
Loki’s blood goes cold. Then he straightens. “How bad could it have been?”
Eyes narrowing, Sigyn says, “You accused Sif of adultery.”
Loki snorts. “True!”
“And Freyja of sleeping with you.”
Loki smirks. “Freyja sleeps with everyone—”
Sigyn narrows her eyes.
“— and it was before you?” Loki finishes weakly.
“You accused Odin of being buggered and dressing in women’s clothes … ”
Loki tilts his head. That he accused Odin of being unmanly should terrify him, and it does! And yet, the accusation has a certain ring of truth to it, but he can’t place why.
“ … I can’t even begin to tell you what you accused Njorth of,” Sigyn says.
Adopting a cavalier attitude despite the chill in his heart, Loki shrugs. “I can guess. The man does enjoy his watersports.”
“Loki!” shouts Sigyn. “This is serious. To top off the evening, you told everyone you were responsible for Baldur’s death.”
Grinding his teeth, Loki plays with the fraying edges of his tunic. Part of him wants credit for killing Baldur … No, what he really wants is the world to know what a sham Baldur was, but they don’t, and he hates it.
Taking a low breath Loki says quietly, “Even Heimdall will attest I wasn’t there on the battlefield with Hothur … and Odin made sure he wasn’t watching me when I answered Hothur and Nanna’s prayers.”
“But you can be tried for Fimafing’s death,” says Sigyn quietly.
Loki rubs his eyes. “How exactly did he die?”
Sigyn sighs. “He had a heart attack.”
Loki blinks. “But I’m shit with biological magic.” He snorts. “If I could kill a man with a heart attack, I would have given one to Baldur.” He shakes his head. “Fimafing probably gave his last few shares of Idunn’s apples to some giantess or mortal he was trying to impress, I yelled at him, and he had a heart attack.”
Sigyn sighs. “Loki, they’re calling for you to be imprisoned the length of Fimafing’s life.”
Loki’s breath catches in his throat. The walls around him seem to be suddenly closing in, the air too thin to breathe. He feels heavy, as though a stone has been laid upon his chest. He whispers,“Surely there is another option?”
Sigyn looks down. “You could accept banishment—but that sentence would extend to all of us—you, me … Nari and Valli,” she finishes quietly.
Loki lets out a long breath. The prison seems not quite so stifling. There is an option. He thinks of the wide open spaces of Midgard. It is a death sentence, they wouldn’t be entitled to Idunn’s apples; but it would be freedom too.
Looking away, Sigyn says, “Nari and Valli are waiting to see you. I told them I’d let them in when you woke up.”
As if on cue, from the door comes Valli’s loud whisper, “He killed Baldur, the Golden and Good, and now the coward’s going to get us all killed!”
Sigyn is instantly on her feet and heading towards the door of the cell. Loki staggers up behind her.
Before he’s reached the door, Nari is responding. “Don’t you remember anything of Baldur, what you saw when Helen was around. He wasn’t golden, he wasn’t good! He was a liar and a fake and got what he deserved!”
As Sigyn’s hands wrap around the bars of the door, Valli’s scream of rage echoes through the prison. “I’ll kill you!”
There is the sound of scuffling and cursing. Loki looks over Sigyn’s shoulder, past the guards to see Valli with Nari pinned beneath him. Valli is raining blows on Nari’s face.
“Stop it!” Sigyn cries, “Stop it.” Loki raises his voice to echo hers, but Valli doesn’t stop.
“Do something,” says Sigyn to the guards. One of them turns his head slowly to her, but doesn’t bother to respond.
“Well, then let me out!” Sigyn snaps.
A few minutes later, Sigyn is escorting Nari and Valli into the cell—pulling Valli by the ear as she does. Nari’s face is rapidly turning purple and Valli won’t meet Loki’s eyes. Loki can’t decide which hurts him more.
Less than a month later, Loki is standing before the Diar. It’s minutes before the verdict, though he already knows he will be declared guilty. After the verdict is declared, he’ll have to decide, imprisonment or banishment. Taking a deep breath, Loki sends a projection of himself to the Midgard World Gate.
The gates to the other worlds are almost empty. Most of the Aesir are at the trial; but Heimdall is at his post. Seeing his projection at the gate to Midgard, the gatekeeper approaches. “There are massive crop failures on the continent the World Gate would take you to,” Heimdall says. “The weather patterns are changing. There will be famine this year—and for many more to come. Their religion has changed—you will not be worshipped, most likely they will try to burn you at the stake as a witch. You might make it to a safer region, Loki, but would your sons? Would Sigyn?”
Loki turns his head and meets Heimdall’s eyes. His wife and sons aren’t as strong as he is in magic. Even if he could keep them safe from starvation or being burned at the stake, he will still watch them all die. He remembers Nari’s bruised face.
“If you want your family to live, you’ll go to the cave,” Heimdall says.
Loki swallows. He thinks of Nari and Valli interrupting the ceremony when Gungnir was presented to Odin. He thinks of Helen dying in his arms.
In the courtroom, the head of the Diar says, “Loki of Asgard, you are found guilty. Do you chose banishment or imprisonment for 200 years, the length of the life you cut short?”
Loki dissolves his projection at the gates. He turns his head and meets Sigyn’s eyes among the audience. She has not told him what he should do. She sits tall and proud. Nari’s eyes are red when they meet Loki’s. Valli is scowling and looking away. Loki swallows. Sigyn is Sigyn, and he does love her, but it’s his boys that are making his heart clench. They aren’t even grown. They may never grow up if he goes to Midgard.
“Imprisonment,” Loki says. There are murmurs in the courtroom. Nari starts to cry in earnest, and Valli snaps his attention to Loki.
Loki turns his head to face the Diar. He feels the cold gray walls of his prison closing in, but he can’t choose the other way; not because he is strong, but because he is a coward. He can’t take watching two more of his children die. He is bound to his children and by them.
Odin’s voice cracks through the courtroom. “Lead him to the cave.”
Loki’s not sure why Odin insists on the cave instead of the tower for his imprisonment— perhaps for its seclusion. Located high on a mountain adjacent to the city, it isn’t likely that Loki will receive many visitors. Still, on that first day, when the shackles are affixed to his ankles and wrists at the cave mouth, all of Asgard is there to heckle him. Loki keeps his eyes locked on Sigyn. She keeps her chin up. She does not cry—if she had, he would too. He can only glance at his boys. Nari looks like he will cry again. Valli looks enraged; but this time, Loki knows, it is not rage directed at him. Accepting imprisonment over banishment has redeemed Loki in Valli’s eyes.
He is just being led down into the cave entrance when Thor’s voice rises above the hecklers. “Wait!”
The Einherjar leading Loki stop and turn, but Loki does not look until Thor grabs his shoulders and spins him around. “I will watch after your sons as though they are my own,” Thor says, and Loki is surprised to see his storm-cloud-blue eyes are wet. Raising his voice so everyone can hear, he adds, “They are under my protection. I give you my oath.”
Loki can only nod shakily and look away, biting his lip and willing himself not to cry.
His guards lead him into the darkness of the cave. His shackles are attached to chains set into the cave walls. The shackles aren’t magical, but he has been stripped nearly naked and doesn’t have the tools he uses to pick locks. He wishes he’d spent more time practicing telekinesis.
He is given enough line that he can walk a few paces in either direction, and there are some large rocks to sit and lie down on. It is cold and damp, and the floor is sticky with snake venom, dripping from a small faucet set into the wall beyond the reach of his chains. That was Skadi's idea; his fellow Jotunn-Asgardian fancies herself the goddess of justice. The venom is necrotic. Loki’s innate magic is too strong for it to be permanently damaging, but it does irritate his bare feet, is sticky like honey, and gets everywhere. The hope is that it will cause him too much irritation for him to concentrate and perform any serious magic.
Over the next few weeks—or is it months—it isn’t particularly surprising that Loki falls into a deep depression. Hoenir and Mimir visit. So occasionally does Thor. But Sigyn visits him every day, making sure his hair is brushed, and what little clothing he wears isn’t threadbare. She lays fresh straw on the rocks to give him a place to lay above the snake venom and replaces it frequently. She scrubs away what venom she can.
Sigyn talks about Nari and Valli and Thor’s attempts to make them warriors—successful in Valli’s case, not as successful in Nari’s—the boy was always a bit of a bookworm. Loki is mostly unresponsive. Even when everyday she tells him thank you.
And then one day she comes with a small glass bowl. “A gift from Odin,” she says, smiling. “Apparently it took some trouble to get. It’s enchanted. Even Heimdall won’t be able to see it.”
Loki stares at it uncomprehending, scratching where the skin on his legs has begun to blister and bleed from the venom.
Sigyn takes the bowl and puts it beneath the spigot. The bowl vanishes, but the venom pools harmlessly beneath the spigot without spreading out across the floor. Loki tilts his head, transfixed. The floor has been so stained by the venom at this point it will still look wet.
And then, one day after Sigyn has tidied up Loki and his cave, Nari and Valli come to visit. Even though Loki’s skin is no longer blistered and red, and even though he’s making an effort to be cheerful, they look terrified. With shaky hands Nari puts a square fabric-covered object on the boulders and then pulls back the cloth.
In the cage sits a rabbit with the hind legs of a chicken. “Do you like him?” says Nari. “I put him together in Hoenir’s shop. I’m calling him a ricken, from the English words ‘rabbit’ and ‘chicken’.”
“I’m the one who stole the leftover pieces of chicken and rabbit in the kitchens!” Valli says proudly. “I had to fight a servant boy to get them!”
Loki stares at the creature and nearly chokes. It’s much more than he ever managed in the monster-making department. “It’s beautiful,” Loki murmurs.
“He can stay with you, so you don’t get so lonely,” says Valli.
Nari coughs. “We made the cage with Hoenir. The little drawer at the bottom is to make the cage easier to clean.”
Loki blinks at the cage. As lovely as the gesture is, he doesn’t want the responsibility of a pet that might hop out and knock over the venom bowl. He is about to suggest the boys keep it when Nari clears his throat. “Open the drawer, Father.”
Loki raises an eyebrow, but does, assuming the boys want to demonstrate their craftsmanship.
As the drawer slips open, he blinks. There is a little compartment beneath the hay. In it is a book.
Loki looks at his boys and his wife. Nari swallows. Valli waggles his eyebrows. Sigyn is smirking.
Loki looks back to the book. It’s bound in white leather and no larger than his palm, but the fact that Hoenir went to so much trouble to have his family smuggle it in means that it is exactly the sort of reading material the Diar, Heimdall, Skadi, and possibly Odin himself, would not approve of.
For the first time since entering the cave, Loki smiles genuinely.
Later that afternoon when the boys and Sigyn are gone, Loki pulls the ricken
onto his lap, and opens the little volume. A sheet of parchment falls out. Picking it up, Loki reads:
“The book is yours. Keep it. Heimdall won’t be able to see it with his Sight, but anyone who comes to the cave will be able to see it with their eyes. Keep it in the cage.
Burn this parchment and tell no one I’ve written this.
Hoenir”
Fingering the parchment, Loki tilts his head. It’s the only time Hoenir has ever ‘spoken’ to him. He doesn’t even have a voice to imagine with the slanted script. He doesn’t want to set the parchment alight, but he does. When only ash is left he opens the book again. It is the journal of a fellow named Lothur … who seems to have been a bit mad. At the very beginning of the journal Lothur states he’s enchanted it so that only he can read it, but Loki is reading it. Obviously, there were a few arrows missing from Lothur’s quiver.
Loki turns to the next page and his eyes widen. It is a journal, but not just. It is also a book of magic. How to make oneself invisible even to magical sight, how to make multiple projections, how to split molecules and turn water to flame, how to do telekinesis and much more. Most excitingly, it tells how to open branches of the World Tree and walk the In-Between.
Under ordinary circumstances, Loki would have found the book very interesting. But he wouldn’t have had the patience to master its contents. In the cave, Loki has nothing better to do. Within a decade he is slipping his shackles and traveling invisibly to visit Sigyn and to watch over his boys. Within a century he is visiting other worlds.
He even travels to Midgard, where he might have been banished. Continuously being swept with plague, the world is in chaos. In the upheaval he is able to abscond with a magical scabbard that protects its wearer from harm. This he covertly lets Nari ‘find’ on a walk in the woods, because Thor has told Loki he is worried that Nari’s interest in reading is keeping him from honing his martial skills. Loki also gets Nari a copy of the Magna Carta, because Nari has spoken excitedly of it.
For Valli, the more apt warrior, Loki steals a sword capable of moving the winds. And he finds a copy of the Odyssey and the Iliad, because he wishes the boy would read, even just a little.
In the cave, Loki has no courtly obligations. The only binds he has are to his family and to Thor.
When he went into the cave he saw it as a prison. By the end of his imprisonment he has almost begun to think of it as an oasis from courtly gossip and responsibility. When he emerges from his fetters, he has to carefully illusion himself to look frail and wasted. In reality he is stronger than he has ever been.