The Gospel of Loki (9 page)

LESSON 1

Gold

All men are one-eyed when a woman’s involved.

Lokabrenna

A
ND SO
I
BECAME THE
T
RICKSTER
, despised and yet invaluable, hiding my contempt for them all behind my scarred and twisted smile. I found my appeal undiminished among the ladies, who seemed to find that scarred smile quite attractive – but that wasn’t the point, of course. Chaos is unforgiving. And in spite of my defection, I was still a child of Chaos.

Isn’t it funny, how quickly things change? Nine little stitches, that’s all it took for me to suddenly realize the truth: that whatever I did, whatever I risked, however much I tried to fit in, I would
never
be one of them. I would never have a hall, or earn the respect I so clearly deserved. I would never be a god; only ever a dog on a chain. Oh, I might be of
use
to them now and then, but as soon as the current crisis was done, it would be back to the kennel for Your Humble Narrator, and without as much as a biscuit.

I’m telling you this so you’ll understand why I did the things I did. I think you’ll agree I had no choice; it was the only way I could retain what little self-respect I had. There’s such purity in revenge, unlike those
other
emotions I’d had to endure in Odin’s world. Envy, hatred, sorrow, fear, remorse, humiliation – all of
them messy and painful and quite spectacularly pointless – but now as I discovered revenge, it was almost like being home again.

Home
. See how they corrupted me? This time, with nostalgia, that most toxic of their emotions. And perhaps with some self-pity as well, as I started to think of all the things I’d given up to join them: my primal Aspect; my place with Surt; my Chaotic incarnation. Not that Surt would have understood or cared for my belated remorse – that too was the product of their pernicious influence. Hence my hunger for revenge, not because I expected a reconciliation with Chaos – not
then
– but because the urge to destroy was really all that I had left.

My first and purest impulse was to seek out the enemies of the Aesir. Just as Gullveig-Heid had done in the days of the Winter War, I thought to find refuge among the renegade Vanir, exchanging my skills for their protection. The problem was, I’d been
too
good. My reputation preceded me. I was known throughout the Worlds as the Trickster of the gods, the man who’d given Odin his spear; Frey his ship; Thor his hammer. I was the man who’d built Asgard in stone and cheated the builder of his reward. In fact I’d cheated
everyone
– including Death itself – with the result that no one would trust me, or believe I meant business.

And so I decided to bide my time. There were perks to living in Asgard. The food was good, there was plenty of wine and the view was the best in the Nine Worlds. War with the Aesir would change all that. Living under a grubby tent, or in a cave in the mountains; no Idun to heal my wounds; growing old; getting fleas; looking up at Asgard and remembering what I could have had . . .

No, I decided. That wasn’t my style. Better to live as a dog in Asgard than as a god anywhere else. Better to work undercover for now; undermining them one by one; spreading discord among them; working to find out their weaknesses; taking them down one at a time. Then, when they were ready to fall . . .

Boom!

I started with Freyja. No reason, except that she was the weakest link in the chain. Odin had a soft spot for her, and if my plan worked, I meant to cut him as deeply. Now the Goddess of Desire was vain and, since my encounter with the Tunnel Folk, had never ceased to question me about their treasures, especially the jewellery I’d seen on my visit to World Below.

‘Tell me more,’ she would say, lounging on her silken couch, eating fruit, attended by her maidens. One of them was Sigyn, whose interest in me seemed to increase the less attention I paid to her. Next to Freyja she looked plain, which I guess was Freyja’s intention. Freyja herself was peerless, of course; creamy skin, red-gold hair, a rack like you wouldn’t believe. Her amber-eyed cats purred at her feet, the air all around her was scented. No one – not even I – was wholly impervious to her charms, but I preferred the wilder type, and besides, I had more important things on my mind than romance.

‘Well,’ I began, helping myself to a grape. ‘The sons of Ivaldi may not have been judged the best craftsmen in the Nine Worlds – although I still dispute this – but they are undoubtedly the finest goldsmiths I’ve ever seen, as I’m sure you’d agree, if you’d seen their work. I’m talking about
gold
, Freyja. Necklaces, bracelets, the lot – shining like scraps of sunlight. And there was one particular piece – a necklace like you’ve never seen. A choker, broad as the length of your thumb, made up of links so delicately crafted that it might almost be a living thing; moulded to every curve of your neck; gleaming, reflecting, perfecting—’

Freyja gave me a sharp look. ‘Perfecting?’

‘Sorry. My mistake. Of course. My lady, you’re perfect already.’

I grinned inside. The lure was thrown. After that, it was only a matter of time before Freyja went in search of it. I watched her from afar. Not for long. Sure enough, as I’d anticipated, I saw
her leave Asgard one morning – on foot, without her chariot, without even a single handmaiden to assist her – and cross the plain of Ida in search of the Sons of Ivaldi.

I followed her in bird form, soaring high above her head, and when she entered World Below through the Forest of Ironwood, I changed myself into a flea and dropped into her cleavage, to find out just what kind of deal she was ready to make with the Maggots.

The first time I’d been in that workshop, my own head had almost been turned by the potency of all that gold. Freyja, who lived for beautiful things, I knew would be bedazzled. And so she was. In spite of the stink, and the heat of the forge, that necklace, displayed against a backdrop of rock, blazed out like the light from the sun. I saw her eyes widen; her lips part. She held out her hand to touch it . . .

Dark against the orange glow, the Sons of Ivaldi watched her. I told you they worshipped beauty; they’d never seen anything like her before. Desire, unveiled and in Aspect; as I said, even Odin, married to Frigg and a seemingly happy father-of-three, had been known to lust after Freyja, although he kept his feelings at bay and hidden to all but Yours Truly.

The Sons of Ivaldi had no such restraint. Their dark eyes shone; they practically drooled.

Dvalin stepped forward. ‘To what do I owe . . . ?’

‘How much is that necklace?’ said Freyja.

Dvalin shrugged. ‘It’s not for sale.’

‘But I want it,’ said Freyja. ‘I’ll give you gold. Whatever you want.’

Once more, Dvalin shrugged. ‘I have all the gold I can use,’ he said.

‘Well, surely you must need
something
?’ Freyja gave him her sweetest smile and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Besides, it would please me so
very
much. Don’t you want to please me?’

Slowly, Dvalin nodded. His brothers stepped forward to join him. From the shadows I saw them, hungry and filled with
longing. ‘Oh, yes. I want to please you,’ he said.

Freyja’s smile grew broader. She reached out to touch the necklace; studded with gemstones; gleaming with runes; lithe and light as a golden snakeskin.

‘I’ll give you the necklace,’ Dvalin said. ‘In payment for four nights of pleasure.’

‘What?’ said Freyja, the smile fading.

‘One night for each of us,’ Dvalin said. ‘We made the necklace together. It’s unique. It’s stitched through with glam. The wearer’s beauty will never fade. Nothing will ever spoil it – or
you
. That’s my price. Now what do you say?’

Freyja bit her lip. A tear, burning gold in the light of the forge, ran slowly down her cheek.

‘Four nights,’ said Dvalin. ‘After that, the necklace is yours for ever.’

OK, so I watched. Is that so bad? Besides, it was a Hel of a show. I knew that Freyja was shallow, but until that moment I hadn’t been sure how far she would go for the sake of personal adornment. Well, folks, she went
all
the way,
every
way – and not just once, but four times, with four uncouth and demanding men who hadn’t had a woman in years. Still, she got what she wanted, and I watched as the Sons of Ivaldi fastened the necklace around her neck, leering and smirking and touching her all over with their horny hands. I followed her as she fled back home to Asgard and a long bath – and then I made for Odin’s hall and told him everything I’d seen.

They say ‘never trust a one-eyed man’. But some might say that where women are concerned,
all
men are one-eyed, and even that eye doesn’t see much. Odin’s one eye narrowed in rage when I told him the sordid details, but he couldn’t seem to stop listening. I know. I’m a good narrator. And the story I was telling him was almost irresistible.

When I had finished, he vented his rage, flinging his goblet of wine to the floor. ‘Why did you tell me all this?’ he said.

‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I thought you might want to know, that’s all. That Freyja, our beautiful Freyja, sold herself to the Maggots.
I
didn’t sanction it.
I
didn’t encourage her. She’s a responsible adult, and I guess she knew what she was doing. Still,
some
people might say that her actions could have endangered all of us. Or that she had a duty to inform you if she was leaving Asgard. I said
some people
. I don’t judge. Still, I thought you ought to know.’

Odin gave a low growl. ‘Get me the necklace,’ he told me.

‘What, me?’

‘You know how to do it,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what this is. This is payback for Brokk, and that awl.’

I feigned innocence. ‘Payback?’ I said. ‘Why would I need payback? You’re my brother. We swore a pact. And as for that silly business with Brokk . . .’ I smiled. My mouth was almost healed by then. ‘You know, I’d almost forgotten that. You really don’t need to feel guilty. Although,
some
might say that the things we do sometimes come back to haunt us. There should be a word for that, don’t you think? Something poetic. I’ll think of one.’

Odin’s growl grew more menacing. ‘Get me the necklace, Loki,’ he said.

I put up my hands. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

I waited till Freyja was asleep. Then I entered her chamber, once again disguised as a flea. Freyja was wearing the necklace in bed – and nothing else, I noticed – but, regaining my Aspect, I found that she was lying on the clasp. I couldn’t reach to unfasten it. And I couldn’t afford to wait until the goddess turned over in her sleep. My mission might have Odin’s blessing, but if I were caught next to Freyja’s bed, naked, in the middle of the night, the Vanir wouldn’t hesitate to gut me like a mackerel.

And so I returned into my flea Aspect and bit her on the eyelid. She gave a sigh and turned over, exposing the clasp of the necklace. Assuming my Aspect once again, I reached for
the necklace and, very gently, unfastened it and slid it off. Then I crept to the chamber door and unlocked it from the inside, blew the sleeping Freyja a kiss, and prepared to head back to Odin’s hall, where the Old Man was waiting grimly for proof of her betrayal.

But as I was reaching for my clothes (which I’d left at the door as I shifted, of course), I became aware of a figure standing in the passageway. It was Heimdall, snooping around as usual, who must have spotted my signature from his vantage point on Bif-rost.

He drew his mindsword, a cantrip of
Týr
– a flickering blade as deceptively fast as a moth’s wing, and as sharp as my tongue.

‘This is not what it looks like,’ I said.

He smiled, exposing his golden teeth. ‘Let’s see what your insides look like.’

I shifted to my Wildfire Aspect and started to race down the passageway, dropping the necklace onto the flags. But Heimdall cast the rune
Logr
– water – and I found myself suddenly, painfully quenched.

I returned to my habitual Aspect, shivering, drenched and
au naturel
.

‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ I gasped. ‘The Old Man sanctioned this himself.’

He laughed. ‘I knew you were a liar,’ he said, ‘but this tops it all. The General asked you to break into Freyja’s rooms? Why would he do that?’

I shrugged and picked up the necklace again. ‘Let’s go. You can ask him yourself.’

They tell you revenge isn’t worth it. I say there’s nothing finer. I reached Odin’s hall in a headlock, naked, wet and covered in soot. Heimdall, looking like a golden retriever triumphantly bringing one of his master’s slippers, flung me at the General’s feet.

‘I found this little weasel sniffing around Freyja’s bedroom,’ he said. ‘I know that for some reason he entertains you, but—’

‘Get out,’ Odin said.

‘But, Allfather—’ began Heimdall, confused.

‘I said, get out,’ snarled Odin. ‘You’ve done quite enough for one night. And unless you want to bring even more shame onto Freyja and the Vanir, keep your mouth shut about what you saw. Loki has shown more loyalty than any of your people. Lay a hand on him again, you overgrown canary, and I’ll knock you off your perch for good. All right?’