Loki (25 page)

Balder went to the first cradle and hoisted the large infant over his shoulder, while Frey did the same with the infant Angrboda had left on the bed. Sleipnir appeared suddenly between them as the two infants began wailing.

Angrboda turned with a look of horror, realization of how she had been tricked painfully etched across her face. “No!” she screamed, and turned towards them. She was held back by Tyr, who grabbed her wrist. She turned back to him quickly and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up off his feet and crushing his neck in her large hand.

He was amazed at her strength, but had been in too many battles to be caught by surprise for very long. Staring her in the eye as she attempted to choke the life from him, he knew there would be no reasoning. Her fury was ignited as he had rarely seen before, and she would kill them all with her bare hands if she could.

His sword still in hand as he dangled at her eye level, he brought it up swiftly and sliced through her neck. Her head fell and her body followed, Tyr dropping to his feet even before Angrboda's fresh corpse hit the stone floor. He sheathed his sword and walked over to where Frey and Balder were mounted on Sleipnir.

“
Why did you kill the child?” he asked.

“
It was a vile thing. You did not see it.”

Tyr looked over at the cradle of the dead infant. “There is nothing to do about it now. We can only hope the Allfather will not be too displeased.”

“
I will take the responsibility for the action, and the consequences.”

Tyr nodded.

Frey said, “We must leave.”

Tyr mounted Sleipnir. As before, though the horse did not look large enough to carry three gods and two giant infants, there was enough room for all. As it ran toward the wall, it faded into the spaces in between the Nine Worlds on its way back to Asgard with its cargo.

Chapter Sixteen

Odin could remember well the day that Loki's two children were brought to him. Laid out before him, wailing in his presence, he could see them clearly. One was the snake, and the other was the wolf. He almost found it amusing that these two helpless infants—large though they might be—would cause such destruction when the time came.

As he gazed upon them, Balder had spoken of the third infant.

“
Father, the third child—”

“
Is dead. I know.”

“
It was unintentional.”

“
Do not think on it more. She has been in Niflheim for countless ages already. Her death was fated.”

Balder had been confused, but Odin did not elaborate.

“
Take this one,” he had said, nodding to the reptilian infant, “to the edge of Asgard and toss him into the seas surrounding Midgard.”

Balder had blanched. “Father? Do you jest?”

“
Have you ever known me to jest, Balder?”

“
But it is only an infant, no matter how hideous. At least let me end its life quickly before sending it to a watery grave.”

Odin had stared down at him from his high seat. “It will be no grave. Now do as I command.”

Head bowed, Balder had said, “Yes, my lord,” and left with the infant.

Odin had turned to Tyr. “You think my pronouncements cruel?”

“
It is not my place to question the Allfather.”

“
This one will have a different fate. What do you think of this infant?”

“
It looks half beast, but it is not as ugly as the other.”

“
Take it to the woods surrounding Asgard and leave it there for the wolves.”

Tyr had not flinched. “Yes, High One.”

As he turned to leave, Odin called after him one last time. “See that the child survives. No harm may come to it.”

Tyr looked at him oddly for a moment, but said, “Yes, High One. It will be as you say.” He left with the infant in his arms.

From his high seat he had looked down on both infants, although they were infants no longer. They had grown quickly, and the chaos at their cores had redefined them according to their surroundings. The snake had attained an enormous size at the bottom of the ocean, where it had fed on whatever creatures swam or crawled near it. It would grow larger still, but he would not need to think on the creature till the time they met again.

The wolf was a different matter.

He was not as large, but he was more dangerous because of his size. He had needed to be fast in those early days in the forest in order to survive, snatching food when available, avoiding those that would feast on him. Tyr had fed him for a time, which was how he had survived. The wolf now reigned supreme in those woods, and all other creatures either fled from him or fed his insatiable hunger.

Odin had watched the wolf roam the fields and forests of Asgard for some time now, considering his upcoming confrontation with the beast. He did not relish where he would send him, but of course there was little choice. He felt a small regret for what must be done and who must be harmed, but such feelings were useless. The High One could not afford emotions interfering with the fate of the Nine Worlds.

Tyr's servants led the cart to the edge of the clearing. With a nod, they began unloading the contents and tossing them towards the tree line. They made several trips, nervously scanning the trees for any sign of Fenrir. The wolf did not show, but even back near the cart, well behind Tyr, they were still fearful. Some of them had seen him devour the meat that Tyr left for him, and those that had not had at least heard about the size and ferocity of the beast from the others.

Unn, a younger servant, meekly approached him. “My lord?”

Tyr did not turn to face him, but kept his eyes on the trees. “What is it?”

“
What if the wolf—”

“
Call him by his name.”

“
Yes, lord. What if Fenrir is not satisfied with the meat you have left for him?”

Tyr glanced at the servant, noting the clear terror in his eye. “Have you come with me to feed Fenrir before?”

“
No, my lord.”

“
But you have heard tales of him from the others?”

“
Yes, my lord.”

“
What have they told you?”

Unn swallowed. “That the wo—that Fenrir is very large and terrifying. That he chokes down all the offered meat and glares hungrily at anyone standing nearby.”

Tyr grunted. “There is some truth there. Are you afraid?”

“
Yes, my lord.”

“
He is large enough, that is certain, about the size of a small horse. But he does not always take the meat that is offered. Or at least not while we stand nearby. Sometimes he simply stares. Other times he approaches and offers a word or two.”

“
The beast can speak?”

“
Yes, although his voice is not pleasant to hear.”

Unn looked even less comfortable. “Are we in danger, my lord?”

“
There is always danger, even in the realm of the gods. But Fenrir has made no move towards me. I cannot say for certain that he will never attack, but it does not seem likely that it will be today. And even if he did attack, he would face my sword.”

Tyr turned to see the telltale signs of fear on Unn's face. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and leaned in. “No Asgardian of my house will come to harm while I draw breath.” Unn nodded and stood up the slightest bit taller.

There was hushed whispering from the servants behind him as a dark shape slowly walked out of the woods and headed towards them. Fenrir stopped at the meat that had been thrown for him, sniffed it once, and then looked up at Tyr. He came closer, ignoring the offering.

Tyr could see Unn blanch as Fenrir walked towards them, but the young servant was frozen in place, incapable of stepping back to join the others. Tyr gently nudged him backwards.

Fenrir stopped a sword's length from Tyr and sat back on his haunches. His head was level with Tyr's, making him the largest wolf the servants had ever seen. His fur was dark, and there was an intelligence about his eyes that made it clear that despite his size, he was no plain beast.

“
Tyr,” he growled.

“
You do not eat.”

“
I hunger for more than meat, Tyr.” Again, the name was uttered like a growl.

“
I cannot answer your questions, as I have told you before.”

Fenrir bared his fangs. He stood up on all fours, and Tyr heard the collective gasp of the servants behind him. Fenrir turned and trotted back to the meat. He reached down with his head and grabbed the largest piece, swallowing it down quickly. As Tyr and his servants looked on, Fenrir devoured the rest and then loped slowly back to the trees.

Before disappearing into the forest, he turned and looked back at Tyr one last time. There was menace in that glance, but he had seen the same each time he fed the wolf. He was not entirely certain why he continued to bring these offerings to the beast, but he could not erase the vision of Angrboda's head being sliced off and falling to the ground.

Freyja stepped carefully over a fallen tree, worry knitting her features. All living things—save for the gods—died, and those deaths were not upsetting to her. It was part of the cycle of the Nine Worlds, and as a Vanir she was not only a goddess of life, but of death as well. The delicate nature of life made it all the more valuable, even though mortals rarely understood that.

Witnessing the destruction wrought by the wolf, however, she did not feel any sense of beauty or closure in the death he had brought to the forest. Trees were savagely shredded, plants were trampled in his wake, and a slew of animals lay butchered, a bloody path that none could fail to follow. And all these things were destroyed for nothing. He had not even killed the animals for food, but merely rent them apart for the sheer pleasure of slaughter.

Sadness creeping over her like a funeral pall, she followed the trail, not really knowing why she did so. There was a need to see this creature, to try to understand why any being would so senselessly butcher the living things around him. She could feel the malice lingering in the air around her, the wolf’s aura permeating this holy place. The thought that he could continue to wreak destruction unchecked sent a chill through her body.

She continued on, her connection to the things around her bringing more misery with every step. She reached a clearing and paused. An unusual feeling crept over her, something she could not remember feeling before. There was an unpleasant tingling sensation low in her stomach, and she felt an overwhelming need to stay still and silent.

At the other end of the clearing Fenrir squatted, noisily chewing on a large, dead animal. Its legs were splayed out, forming a sort of half circle around the wolf. His head and shoulders bobbed and jerked while he fed.

Fenrir was not as large as she had imagined him to be, although he was certainly not small. She watched him before taking a step forward, a difficult task to accomplish. She realized that this feeling was fear, and while she had felt it before during the war with the Aesir, it was only a fear for the survival of Vanaheim and the Vanir. She had not felt fear for herself, no matter how many Asgardians threatened with bloody swords and axes.

This fear was different, and she realized that it was fear for her person. Something about this beast instilled a more primal fear in her, something that she would not have thought possible. What was this thing to cow a Vanir goddess by its mere presence? It was more than the sight of the wolf. It radiated something, some kind of aura that caused an offense to her senses. She wondered if the Aesir were so affected.

As she took another step forward, the beast froze. She paused, and he craned his neck around to see his visitor.

His face was very much like a wolf's, with a long snout and pointed teeth, visible with his lips raised in a snarl. But he did not sit on his haunches like a wolf. He was more man-like, although he was covered from head to toe in coarse black fur. There was something unquestionably intelligent lurking behind his eyes as he stared at her.

She wanted to avert her gaze, but feared that he might pounce. There was a good distance between them, enough that it would have taken him several bounds to reach her, but she had every confidence he could cross that span quickly.

“
You watch me,” he growled. She was not surprised that he could speak, but the low menace in the primitive voice was unmistakable.

She did not know how to respond, but felt compelled to address him. “Why do you do this?” She indicated the destruction with a gesture.

He stared at her for long moments, his expression as unchanging as it was unreadable. “Who are you?”

A subtle shift occurred as she looked at him. At first she thought it might have been a trick of the light, but she realized that his form was changing in front of her. His snout grew less pronounced, and his body shifted, making him look more human. She wondered if this were a conscious shifting or an instinctual response.

“
I am Freyja,” she said simply.

He regarded her carefully before speaking. “You are not one of them. You are different.”

“
No, I am not Aesir. I am Vanir. We are not the same.”