Loki (32 page)

The blackness faded, and a solitary figure stood across from him, a large hall just behind. It loomed over the figure and looked as if it might fall. It was patterned after a face, with two rows of windows creating the image of makeshift eyes, and a massive door with jagged top and bottom that looked like a toothed maw ready to devour any who entered.

The figure who stood in front was female and slight of build. As he approached her, he could not tell if she was the destination or if it was the imposing structure that rose up behind her. She wore a black, hooded cloak, but her face was visible underneath the hood; a beautiful, young face, with tufts of raven-black hair that spilled out from the corners. She held out a hand, her pale white skin contrasting with the dark of the cloak, and beckoned him forward.

The familiarity was palpable; this was someone he knew. He was doubly certain that he had never met her, which made the sense of familiarity even stranger. He stepped forward, unable to refuse her summons.

She spoke from within the hood. “Have you found what you sought?” She asked the question with the air of someone who already knew the answer.

“
I have found some things, but others are hidden.” He paused, trying to peer deeper into the darkness of the hood. “Do you know where my sons are?”

“
I am not your son,” she replied. She reached up with her hands and pulled the hood back. For an instant, her face was bare of flesh and muscle, a powder-white skull that stared back with eyeless sockets, but the image was gone quickly.

She was young, with pale beauty that rivaled Freyja’s. Her skin was white and flawless, and her black hair fell in gentle curves just past her shoulders, which he could see now that the hood was down.

“
You do not know what you seek,” she said.

He eyed her curiously. For all her youthful appearance, she seemed far older. She reminded him of Idun, an ancient timelessness that exuded the wisdom of the distant past. But with this one, there was a difference. Where Idun radiated life, she absorbed it. He could feel her presence pulling him in, intent on devouring him. It was not evil or monstrous; like Idun, she was a primordial creature, one who existed outside of the normal realms of the Nine Worlds.

“
I will find them soon.” He felt a sliver of defiance rising up in him, but he knew that it was misplaced. This girl was not his enemy.

“
Your army is incomplete. You will fail.” Out of the folds of her cloak she produced an infant swaddled in black. She held it out for him, and he stepped forward, taking the small bundle. He let the swaddling cloth fall, and he could see the gaping, bloody hole in its throat, so wide that it nearly encompassed the whole neck. As he held the child at arm's length, shocked by the wound, its head lolled backwards and fell to the ground. In disgust, he dropped the headless infant at his feet.

He looked up to meet the eyes of the girl, and saw her cloak fall to the ground. From her waist up she was flawless perfection. Below that, her body was shriveled and black, with bones visible where the flesh had been eaten away by the maggots still crawling on her, giving rise to the clouds of flies that buzzed around her.

Beneath his revulsion was the hint of a discovery that he could not fully grasp. As he stared at her, her smile wide with satisfaction, the hall began to fall toward them. With no way to avoid its immensity, he reflexively put his arm up to shield himself. The hall crushed them both. He felt his bones snap like dry timber, and his body was reduced to pulp. The pain was a white torrent blinding him to anything else.

And then he was back in his cabin. It was night, and he lay on the floor, the pain fading as quickly as his memories of what had just happened. He felt himself for injuries, but there were none; he was intact and unharmed. He rose slowly, shuddering once more with the remembered pain of being crushed by Hel's massive hall. He shook his head and rose to his feet.

A figure was there with him, cloaked in black.

As before, she was slim and her face was lost deep in the recesses of her hood. She was less substantial, however; he could see through her, and she wavered like the mist forms of the Norns.

“
You will come to me,” she said. “I will give you the means to take your revenge.”

He stepped forward, but she held up a hand. The flesh was rotted, and skeletal fingers poked out from blackened skin.

“
Seek me out when you find my brothers. Farewell, father.”

The form disappeared, leaving Loki alone.

He did not understand how this could be. Hel had existed for eons. How could she be his daughter when she had been ancient long before he ever took in his first breath? How could an infant who had been murdered only a dozen seasons ago somehow become ruler of the realm of the dead?

And she had brought him to her realm, he was certain of that.

She had said that his army was incomplete, and so it was. But now he could raise the army he needed to storm Asgard. He would lead a horde of giants, and his three children would be at his side. They would be backed by an army of the dead, of all those who had died and failed to achieve Valhalla. And how they must thirst for revenge on the Aesir they had worshiped, and who had sent them to Niflheim to rot in darkness.

He dismissed the confusion he felt at the realization that his daughter was the mistress of Niflheim. It did not matter how—or even if—it was true. What mattered was that he would lead an unending army against Asgard, and even the might of the Aesir would fall before him.

The faint smile that began to spread across his features was cut short as a thunderclap shook the cabin. He looked out the window. The night was clear, but he saw a rolling line of thunderheads in the distance, a dark bank of clouds that portended something more ominous than any storm. Lightning flashed, a massive strike that arced across the sky.

“
No,” he muttered, the impending peril quickly setting his nerves on edge. “Not now. Not now.”

He turned to the door, ready to dash out before they could reach him. He stopped in mid-stride as another flash of lightning silhouetted the figure at the door. He was lean and muscular with sword drawn. He was also missing a hand.

“
You cannot run from us,” Tyr said.

Loki quickly considered his choices. Even in the peak of health, he would not be able to best Tyr. And Thor was with him somewhere nearby, making any attack futile. He felt for the chaos inside him, barely there after sending it out to find his sons. There was enough for a shift into a small, weak form, a form that he had planned on using when he first found the stream.

He took a step back towards the window. Tyr matched him and took a step into the house, sword held at the ready. Loki glanced at his other hand, noting the metallic sheath that covered it.

“
You will never lay hands on me, Tyr.” If he could not harm him physically, at least he would do so with words.

Tyr sneered at him. “Your insults do you a disservice. They only give us further reason to cause you pain.” He took another step forward.

Before Loki could reply, there was a great rending sound from above as part of the roof was ripped up. Eyes flashing with lightning, red hair and beard ablaze, Thor threw the roof from him with no more effort than a child discarding a blanket. He clutched Mjolnir with one hand, and he stared at Loki, rain dripping from his face.

There was one more here, he was certain of it, probably the most dangerous of the three. While these two could most certainly kill him, he might be able to evade them by quick and decisive action. Frey and his magic, however, would be more difficult to escape. But time had run out; if he did not attempt to escape now, he would never get away.

He turned quickly and called up the chaos within him, the shifting of form effortless despite his weariness. He had done it so many times that it was as simple to change his shape as it was to breathe, an unconscious willing of the chaos to mold the body into a different form.

As his shape changed, he leapt out of the window and landed directly into the stream, his newly emerged tail shooting him amongst the rapidly churning water while his fins and water-sense guided him around obstacles. He let the flow of the water ease his effort, trusting to the rushing water and many obstacles to mask his progress. He did not go as quickly as he could, fearing that it would attract their attention, but kept his speed consistent with other fish.

He had shrunken down to a small size—no more than the span of two hands—finding it easier to shed a larger frame for a smaller than the other way around. It would be difficult enough for them to find him in this form, much less capture him. Once at the end of the stream, he would ride the falling water down to the sea, and then all hope of finding him would be gone.

As he made his way down the stream, he sensed the water flowing differently ahead of him than it did an instant ago. He slowed, wary of something that did not belong. As he drew closer, he swam behind a large rock that slowed the flow of water around it. He used his chaos to probe just ahead. The obstruction went across the width of the stream, allowing water to flow nearly uninterrupted, but halting anything his size or larger from its continued passage. He spun around and went back the way he had come, realizing he could not get by the net they had placed to catch him.

He darted back, fighting the current, and sensed a narrow pass between two large rocks, the only way to continue back up the stream. As he darted toward it, there was a large disturbance as something—he recognized it as a man—jumped into the water, directly in his way and blocking the path between the two rocks.

He built up his speed and approached the pass. With a final thrust of his tail he flew up out of the water and over the rocks. At the bottom of his arc, the stream an instant away, he was roughly snatched from the air. No matter how much he wriggled, the grip would not loosen, and he found himself looking into eyes that flashed with lightning.

He reverted back to his normal form, hoping that he could take some action to release Thor's hold on him. As he completed the change, Thor yanked him up out of the water and spun him around with one hand, tossing him into a tree on the edge of the stream. He hit it with his back, sending intense pain through his body. He crumpled to the ground, unable to do more than get to his knees. He could not force himself upright, and he thought that his back might be broken. He did not have time to contemplate it, however, before the Thunderer was upon him again.

He reached down and grabbed Loki by the throat, lifting him up to eye level. His grip was unnecessarily tight, and Loki could not breathe, but the look on Thor’s face was more intimidating than the lack of air. Even through the haze of pain, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop or even harm Thor. If he were rested and strong he could trick him and then flee, but he was completely helpless now. If Thor wanted to crush his neck, he could do so easily.

Thor brought him closer. He could feel the Thunderer's hot breath in his face. “I would kill you for what you have done,” he said, “but your torment would be over too soon. You need to suffer more.” He pushed Loki up against the tree, his head slamming back into the hard wood. He looked down to see Mjolnir gripped tightly in Thor’s other hand. He brought the hammer back and Loki shut his eyes in anticipation of the pain to come. Thor sent Mjolnir hard into Loki’s midsection.

There was a white hot moment of pain, and then there was nothing as Thor let him go and he slid down the tree unconsciously.

* * *

He woke to agony, immobility, and darkness. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, he realized he was in a cave. His arms were spread out and tied tightly, causing his back to arch, and his feet were tied down. He could not move even the slightest bit. Above his head, several feet up, was an outcropping of rock, and there was something . . . sinuous attached to it. He concentrated and tried to shift forms, but he was unable to do so.

“
Hello, Loki. It has been long since we last met.”

He recognized the voice and realized that this was why he could not shift forms. “You have done something to me,” he spat out to the air, unable to see Frey.

“
It is your fetters. You will not be able to escape them.” Frey’s voice was quiet but unmistakable. Loki had suspected that he was with Tyr and Thor, and he had feared it. His Vanir magic had cast the net in the stream, and now it prevented him from using his own power to escape.

“
Release me. I have no complaint with you.”

Frey laughed coldly. “You have complaint with nearly all in Asgard. But you know better than any that there is a price to be paid for your misdeeds.”

Given time, he thought that he might be able to escape the bonds, despite Frey’s magic. But he needed time to gather his strength. Perhaps he could weaken the spell by distracting Frey. He would appeal to him. They were both outsiders; it was possible that there might be empathy there.

“
We are not unlike, Frey.”

The Vanir prince walked around a large rock and into his view. He tilted his head. “You will not trick me, Loki. Your ways are too well-known.”

“
Perhaps they are. But what tricks could I accomplish here? I am completely at your mercy. Have you considered why I am punished so?”

“
It does not take much considering. You murdered Balder.”

“
Yes, I did. But why?”