Classics Mutilated (36 page)

"Perhaps the amassing fire demons will bring a more temperate clime," she said. I only think she was joking. "You must find Jotunheim a difficult place to live."

"You have no idea. However, an unpleasant life is still preferable to the alternative back home. Things there were ... complicated."

"Why did you come here? You can tell me."

"I …" I hesitated. Were my secret to get out, the rending of my limbs could be soon to follow. And I was rather attached to my limbs, and they to me. However, there was something in her plaintive manner that appealed to me. I let down my guard and told her who I was. I told her everything. Only later would I realize what a mistake this was.

"… and so, it was really nothing more than a prank gone wrong. Grear Balder used to boast of his impervious nature, how only the mistletoe plant could gravely harm him. Am I truly to be faulted for putting that boast to the test? Yes, Balder was the most beloved of all the northern gods, and yes, he was slain by a mistletoe arrow that did indeed pierce his heart. Some could argue that I was directly responsible for this death."

"
Some
?" She smiled again, eyes blazing red but possessing no judgment in them.

"Okay, well,
all
. But really, he must share some blame for making that kind of boast. It felt like a direct challenge to one such as me."

Was I saying too much? I kept the story as truthful as possible, although I did not mention the fact that I would indeed have slain that preening fool myself had I thought I could get away with it. Instead, I armed the blind god Höðr with an arrow carved from mistletoe. But how could I have known that the unseeing fool would strike a killing blow? 

"The one thing I hear of mistletoe," she said smiling, "is that the plant has other, more ... mutually
beneficial
... uses than just mayhem."

And with that, Loki's own heart suddenly felt pierced. We spoke no more. She looked down into my eyes. I stared up at her, her head looming large in my vision, a source of brightness amidst the storm clouds that had again gathered overhead.

I know not how long we spoke, for time stopped moving during our conversation. However, when it did restart, it did so in a hurry. As we stood in the field, a carriage led by two large horses started to take flight in the distance behind us. But as I would learn later, the foolish coachmen only had with him one large carrot, and neither horse was willing to share with the other. The piebald horse slammed his head into the other horse in an attempt to snatch the carrot away. This sent the carriage careening wildly out of control. Right for us!

The coachman was helpless to stop this as the horses battled, themselves oblivious to anyone in their path. The carriage slid recklessly out of control across the ground, with us in its path. As much as the fates like to predict our end, they are often wrong, and I assumed that my time of demise was only seconds away.

Suddenly, Gjalpa leapt in front of me, crouching down and touching the ground with both hands, palms pressed flat against the hard-packed dirt.

The horses and the carriage suddenly slid to either side of us, as though they struck patches of ice that did not exist moments before. The carriage slammed hard into the wall to the left of us, although I did not see this—I had shut tight my eyes, preparing for the crushing impact.

I opened my eyes and saw Gjalpa looking into them. The redness I saw in her eyes before was gone, her eyes again beautiful black pools. "Loki—Loki, are you all right?!"

"I-I'm fine," I said. I cast my eyes to the carriage. The horses were damaged, perhaps unable to ever fly again, but still living. The coachman was less fortunate. Which mattered not, since had he not perished in this collision, he would have met Loki later this evening and learned a valuable—and final—lesson in driving care. As it was, I made a mental note to revisit the two horses at midnight and impart the same lesson. My puppy, being sent to me this afternoon, would be in need of a good snack.

"Gjalpa, how ... how did you turn the carriage so? It appeared to strike twin patches of ice, but the ground…."

"The ground on which we stand has no such ice, Loki. I was right next to you. The horses luckily veered off at the last instant."

As she helped me off the ground, I doubted my senses, and I doubted her story more. Magic was not exactly an unknown commodity in my life, and I was sure I saw something magical today. "No, you were ... in front of me. But you touched the ground, and then they slid away…."

"No, no."

"Yes, I saw you, Gjalpa."

"No. Please, Loki,
trust me
."

I wanted to trust her. I did. But fooling the eyes of a trickster-god is easier said than done. Still, I felt a bond with her that was new and surprising to me, and not so easily discarded. So I chose not to press the issue. The important fact of the situation—that Loki yet lived—was the only tangibly important detail anyway, and so I let the matter drop.

"I—thank you, Gjalpa. For, um, talking to me, I mean. I am—I should go. I'm a bit shaken up, and I must prepare my barn for the arrival of my dog. He is being sent to me, and he'll be hungry. I must prepare for him a nice
supper
." I looked at the two injured horses as I said this.

We parted. She went back to rejoin her adopted family, and the crowd that had gathered similarly departed. No one wanted to be present when the foolish coachman was spirited away to the halls of the dead lest his guides decide he needed additional company on that particular journey. 

Yet I stayed. I bent down to touch the ground in front of me. While all the hard-packed soil was cold to the touch—nothing in this endless winter town was anything but cold—I could have sworn that I felt icy patches that dissipated under the warmth of my touch. Nothing was visible to the eye, and so I had no proof. 

I considered what this meant, and tried to make sense of the jumbled thoughts running around through my head. I felt like I was close to puzzling out what I was thinking, for I felt a familiarity with Gjalpa, a kinship unlike any I'd known before. I might well have avoided the anguish to come had I not been interrupted, but a crackling in the sky jolted me from my reverie.

2. THIRD WHEEL

I'd been told many things about the Valkyries from my father and the elder gods. Those death-obsessed riders of winged horses, those shield-maiden choosers of the slain, those vengeful spirit-warriors who would not only take departed souls to the death-land of Valhalla but also, occasionally and capriciously, grab those still living and take them there as well. These horrid creatures were said to be monstrous in appearance, horrible of manner and blackened of soul. 

"You only ever want to meet the Valkyries
once
in your life," my father told me as a child. "And even then, many souls wither in their presence before ever being able to complete the journey to Valhalla's fabled halls." 

It seems my father never met hyperbole he didn't love. For the Valkyries who appeared now in front of me through an electrified hole in the sky possessed one other trait my father neglected to mention, or perhaps never knew for himself (after all, with only one eye, it's difficult to see things clearly)—they were impossibly, inarguably gorgeous.

As the three riders entered the school grounds on winged horses so white in color that they fairly glowed with brilliant light, the shield-maidens themselves nearly burned my eyes, so great was their beauty.

One in particular especially caught my eye. Never before today had the eyes of Loki been so ensnared so easily, but for the second time in recent memory, I was seized by feelings new and unexplored.

The third Valkyrie to exit the rift in the air was also the youngest. She appeared roughly my age, while the other two were visibly older and battle-hardened. 

The other two administered to the needs of the deceased coachmen, but the smaller one approached me. "Who are you, o man, that you stand in the presence of the Valkyries with gaze that withers not?"

Formal types, these Valkyries. "I am Loki," I said. 

"Brynhilda, I," she said. Her hair was the finest gold, woven into lustrous, thick braids. Her silver battle armor seemed to be protecting a very pleasant figure. 

"And who are ... you know, your friends?"

"Friends we are not, godling. We are Valkyries one and all. My companions Geirdriful and Geiravör are both known for their prowess with the spear, as well as their caring touch in bringing the einherjar to Valhalla's hallowed halls."

"‘Einherjar'? Surely a reckless fool who ran himself into a wall, nearly striking my person while doing so, doesn't qualify as a valiant warrior worthy of Valhalla?"

As Brynhilda started to answer, her shrewish companions cast their gaze in our direction. "Brynhilda! Leave the mortal alone and help us administer to this dead soul!"

She scoffed in their general direction. "Surely two such capable Valkyries as you are capable of preparing one mortal without young Brynhilda getting in your way!"

I whispered to her, suppressing my smile at her sharp tongue. "Can you also tell them that Loki is no mortal but a god most strong?"

They shouted back at her. "Foolish girl! Dost you not know that you talk to Loki the viper, Loki the snake, Loki the Balder-killer?" 

Such was my lot when my reputation preceded me. There was no hiding anything from Valkyries.

"That was
you
?!" Brynhilda smiled largely enough to reveal to me all of her perfect teeth. "Pay them no mind, Loki Odinson! Valhalla's halls are better for having the great Balder in it. And to have orchestrated the death of one so fair and beloved, heedless of the consequences to come, well, that is ... that's just
cool
!"

Her stoic Valkyrie demeanor disappeared and she was a girl again. A girl with a battle-sharpened sword and fitted armor of the finest metals, but a girl in Loki's presence nonetheless. It appeared that even Valkyries who whiled away their days taking away departed warriors preferred the company of "bad boy" gods like myself. Would that I had known before that my machinations would prove so appealing to the fair sex.

"Fair Brynhilda, when you mentioned before that my actions against Balder had great consequences, what did you mean?"

"Oh, never mind that now, Loki. Come, let us take a flight and talk a while." She reached down from her perch upon her steed, offering her hand so that I might join her on the back of her horse. Only, her horse was having none of that. Flaring flames from its nostrils, the horrid creature whipped its head around at me and would have snapped my hand off in its powerful jaws had Brynhilda not intervened. "Er, that is, come, Loki, let us instead take a walk. My horse will wait here for us."

It appears none but Valkyries may sit upon their horses. Which suited me just fine. Perhaps my fair pup could use a meal of
three
such animals tonight, instead of just the two I already planned….

Upset were Brynhilda's traveling companions, but even they admitted that the wretch they were carting away did not require the aid of three Valkyries. They allowed her pass, commenting that they appreciated the constant business I sent their way, and also looked forward to seeing me very soon. Which sounded on the surface to be a polite thing to say, but their wicked smiles told me there was deeper and more disconcerting meaning behind their words. 

At the moment, I cared not about such things. I was entranced by Brynhilda as we walked. Partly because she seemed entranced with me, and any girl who admired Loki deserved in turn my admiration for their strikingly good taste.

"That coachman your Valkyrie-sisters spirited away—why did he gain admittance to a hall of warriors, anyway? Have the qualifications for Valhalla lapsed?"

Brynhilda, who also stood nearly a head's length taller than me, considered this even as she used her sword as a walking stick, absentmindedly carving lines in the ground with its tip as we walked. "No. He was, as you say, a fool. But the coming conflagration—an event that will be forever marked as starting with your plot against fair Balder—will fill Valhalla's halls with warriors, and our need for servants to suit their needs has grown."

"
My
actions, you say?"

"Why, yes, Loki. Twilight is approaching. Fair Balder's passing has ignited the flames of war, and the fire-demons from the depths have amassed an army of considerable enough size to finally—" 

I cut her off with another question. "Never mind that now," I said. "Since you Valkyries seem to know so much about, well, everything, what do you know of the Geirrods? Are they normal?"

"The Geirrods? The girl who helped the demise of yon coachmen? The other shield-maidens said that she is one of the cold ones."

"The cold ones?"

She stopped and looked directly into my eyes. "Yes. The Jotun. Your people call them
frost giants
. According to legend," she continued, noting the shock in my eyes, "they are the bane of the gods and the natural enemy of us Valkyries."

"But ... why? They seem ... well, they seem nice."

"Nice they are not, Loki. For, you see, their abilities are not only far beyond those of mortals, but their way of dealing with threats benefits not Valhalla. They tend to freeze their enemies, encasing them in glacier-thick blocks. This leaves them incapacitated, forever removed from the field of battle, but still living. And as such, off-limits to us Valkyries and denied rightful admittance to Valhalla."

"But," I countered, "if they are not claiming the lives of warriors, this makes them not dangerous to be around, right? These Geirrods, they're not like the frost giants of eons past, are they?"

"No," she said, getting gravely serious. "They're not
like
those horrible frost giants from days of yore.

"They are the
same
ones."

My slumber that evening was again long in coming. Brynhilda eventually took her leave, returning to Valhalla in an acrid burst of smoke and lightning. She told me she would have difficulty returning to see me without just cause, said cause being another dead soul to cart away to the great hall. I told her that I could see to that on a regular enough basis should she decide that she would like to see me again. She said she would, and she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through me.