“And She Endures
And She Endures
And She Endures.”
—Midgard Prayer
Days passed like years. It must’ve been days by then, surely. There was no light outside to tell us if it was day or night, only the flicker of the torches, which never went out. Perhaps they were like us, barely living, as if time were meaningless.
Every single second crawled by like cold honey dripping from a vat. There was nothing to do but mourn. Mourn for the sons I’d seen murdered in front of my eyes. For the husband I was being forced to watch disintegrate in front of me like salt into the sea. All of it played back every time I closed my eyes. Sometimes I could convince myself it wasn’t real, but then I would look at the dried red on the stone. The blood had pooled there and then had run into the bubbling hot spring, turning it pale pink at first and then eventually fading away. Now it was nothing more than a violent stain.
◦ ● ◦
“Loki,” I whispered. “Loki, wake up.” The rise and fall of his chest didn’t waver. It had taken him an eternity to fall asleep, but he’d gone eventually, too exhausted to do anything else. “Loki, the bowl is too heavy. It’s too full, wake up.”
His eyes fluttered, threatening to close again. I wanted to shake him, but I needed both hands to carry the weight.
“Loki!”
He snapped to attention, pulling against the fetters. “What happened?”
“I need to empty the bowl.”
He stared upwards and his breath hitched, panic written on his face. “Skít. Be quick. Please.”
The snake’s wide mouth hung dangerously above, a single fat drop of venom threatening to fall. Slowly, it gathered mass. I watched and waited and when it hit the bowl, I moved, as quick as my disused legs could manage. I stepped carefully, trying to keep the bowl steady. The venom sloshed over the side, dripping down my fingers. Pain burst through me, burning every nerve in my hand, webbing through my fingers and up into my elbows. I cried out, determined not to drop the bowl and send the venom splashing over the rest of me.
“Sigyn! Are you—” A scream ripped through him. The first drop of venom.
I fought through the pain and stumbled to the edge of the cave, pouring the venom into a dip in the stone. Another drop, another scream. The floor moved just slightly beneath me, the warning before the quake. I turned back, and my leg gave way beneath me. The bowl slipped from my fingers and rolled toward the stone where Loki was bound. I wiped my hands on the dress, scrambling to pick up the bowl. The pain kept shooting through me until I was screaming along with him, but I still scooped up the bowl and dropped to my knees at his side, holding it over his face.
With the sleeve of my dress, I wiped the venom from his cheek, but the pink lines had already risen across his skin, dripping toward his ear. He shook with sobs, straining to be free, to escape the pain. There was nothing I could do against the burning in my veins but grip the bowl so tightly that it numbed the tips of my fingers. To let it live and die in me.
I had to be strong enough for the both of us.