The Path of Ravens (Asgard vs. Aliens Book 1) (33 page)

Disturbingly, Loki smiles once more. "Ah,
the lovely Enyo," he says. "She did surmise last night when
I bedded her. Repeatedly. After the eighth time, she asked who I was,
and I told her. She and Ares rarely  saw eye-to-eye. Even more
rarely groin-to-groin." He chuckles. "She is... 
amenable
...
to the change. But in case she does regret the choice, I had Medea
place a simple compulsion upon her that will still her tongue—and
her heart—should she try to reveal me. I hope she does not test
it, for I do so enjoy her."

Hearing him, I am filled with loathing. Enyo is
mother only to the shell of flesh I inhabit, and she and I have never
shared words, much less any love. But to hear her spoken of thus—

Neither have I ever been fond of Medea, yet I
feel sympathy for her. I came here as a man of Asgard, of Odinn, but
in this moment I feel more than ever an Atlantean and Neolympian.

"Thor has fallen to our new enemy,"
Baldr informs Loki.

The shapeshifter frowns. "Dead? Pity. He
provided me with so many years of amusement. I shall miss him."

"Tyr assembles a Great Host in Vanaheim,"
Baldr says next. "Odinn would see the people of this city join
it. Can you get them to do that?"

Loki scoffs. "Can I get them... 
Pfft!
 
They will do as I say. You wish us to join your Host, then it is
done!"

"You will be discovered," I grate.

From the throne he has usurped, Loki scowls
mockingly at me. "Take a lesson from the fairest of your
delegation, yapping pup," he says, "and shut your muzzle."
Smiling, he wags a finger at me. "I sired that carcass you wear,
and it's not too old to put over my knee!"

I burn to charge at Loki and slash his throat,
but enough reason remains in me to stay my hand. No one in this room
would permit an attack. The only question is which of them would be
quickest to kill me. Baldr? Loki himself? Medea—against her own
will? I would hate to think it would be Gaeira, but I cannot discount
the possibility.

I am not eager to find out. I must calm myself
and look ahead. The time may come when I can cut Ares' stolen face
from Loki's head, but it will not be soon, and surely not now.

"You have done well, Loki," Baldr
says. "The task for which we came here is achieved. We shall
stay the night and leave come morning."

Before Baldr can finish, I am already stalking
out of the hall.

I find Crow outside with a large group of
Atlanteans and Chrysioi waiting for word from within.

"What happened, brother?" Crow asks.
"Is there to be war between us?"

"No," I tell him. "The right
choice was made. An alliance, as I hoped."

"Then what troubles you?"

Apparently I have failed to disguise my
agitation. Outwardly, I shrug. "Nothing that can't be fixed by a
jug of Kerion's good wine, drunk in good company. Wine is unknown in
Asgard, you know. They prefer  another spirit."

"And you come without any for us to sample?
For shame!" Crow jokes. I begrudge him a chuckle. "You 
must make it up to us by telling us of the sights you have seen."

"I look forward to it," I tell him.
"But there is another with whom I must speak first, in private."

"Who?" Crow demands good-naturedly.
"Who comes before your brothers?"

"No one.  But there is a matter of
some importance I would put to Hephaestus."

Crow sighs. "Suit yourself. There he
stands." He points into the crowd. "But do not tarry long
if you wish for there to be any wine left."

***

The lame smith Hephaestus is a private soul. He
enjoys his work, the company of his loving wife, and little else. I
have spoken with him rarely, and heard him speak not much more often.
But when he does elect to speak, the Chrysioi listen. He could lead
them well, I think, if he so desired. They respect him. As do I, for
I owe him my life.

"Hephaestus," I hail. I extend my
hand, and he clasps it. His wife Aglaia, on his elbow, smiles warmly.
"Might we speak alone? Now, if possible."

He eyes me heavily, pondering, then declines his
lined face in a nod. With a kiss on his wife's cheek, he  turns
and begins limping away, leaning on his walking stick. I follow,
looking behind me to see whether the remainder of the Asgardian
delegation has yet emerged from the hall. It has not.

Hephaestus leads me to his workshop, a firelit
chamber cut deep inside the rock of the mountain with  the aid
of Medea's magic. There the smith halts and looks at me expectantly.

"I will waste none of your time,
Hephaestus," I say. "In case you have yet to hear, the
Myriad have come to this world. If not stopped, they will soon reach
Neolympus. Odinn, this world's unchallenged ruler, in whose service I
have come, assembles an army to stop them. Ares has pledged to join
it. But—"

I hesitate. I have not come to discuss with
Hephaestus the threat from without; I wish to warn him of a 
threat from within. Yet I must choose my words carefully if I am to
avoid breaking Odinn's prohibition on revealing Loki's deception.

"I have seen much of this new world,"
I tell the silent smith. "More than any other Neolympian, I know
of its native dangers. You met one, I am told, a 
changeling
 that
assumed familiar form. Other such creatures may come, and next time
they may not be so easily thwarted. An enemy capable of wearing the
face of another can do vast damage, and there is one person in
Neolympus of great importance who makes an easy target, being
incapable of protecting herself."

"Athena," Hephaestus correctly
surmises.

"Aye. I am sworn to another lord now, but
that does not end my concern for Neolympus. Athena must be better
protected. If I could, I would take her myself to Asgard, where a
means of awakening her might be found. But I know that the Chrysioi
would never allow this, and so I put it to you. Secure her someplace
where no one, not even those who would seem to be friends, might
reach her. In a chamber inside this mountain, perhaps, behind one of
your impenetrable locks."

Bloodless lips pursed within his great red
beard, Hephaestus glares. "Did you give this advice to Ares?"

I give a non-answer, hoping it will suffice:
"Ares is not inclined to listen to me."

Hephaestus glares more in silence, then growls.
"It is my leg that's lame, not my mind, Atlantean. I know what
you really mean to say by making this request."

I try not to let my breath catch. Have I been so
transparent? "What is it that I mean to say?" I dissemble.

Hephaestus paces, 
scrape-thump
,
across his workshop. "It is Ares who you fear might harm his
sister."

Saying nothing, I wait nervously to see whether
he has deduced even more.

He stops pacing and faces me. "Since we
came to this place, I have often thought the same. Ares loves 
his sister... but he also loves power. Were Athena to awaken, she
would take that from him. Few, if any, among the Chrysioi would
choose his leadership over hers."

I feel relief. He has not guessed, then, from my
words or any other clue, that Ares might not be himself. Rather, he
has mistrusted the genuine Ares from the start.

"I did not wish to say that myself," I
tell him. "But there truly are other threats in this world, as
all of Neolympus now knows."

Hephaestus finishes my thought: "They will
serve as good excuse to secret Athena away. Ask any of the Chrysioi,
and they will tell you her sleeping form is the greatest treasure our
city holds."

"Then will you move her?" I ask
anxiously.

Hephaestus measures me in another long stare and
finally declares, somewhat equivocally, "Aye."

"It must be done in such a way that Ares
cannot overrule you," I tell him. "And it must be done
today."

Hephaestus glares, appraising me one last time,
deciding whether he is right to trust me. "I will act quickly
and inform Ares of the deed only after it is done, and publicly. If
he wishes it reversed, he will be forced to explain why Athena should
be made less safe. The Chrysioi, I think, would side with me."

I nod, feeling relief—and pride. I have
struck back against Loki. The damage that he has already done to
Neolympus by killing Ares is immeasurable and cannot be undone. But
if I can prevent him from harming Athena, then I will have kept alive
the hope that one day the false Ares might be deposed, and I will
have achieved it without defying the letter of Odinn's command.

One day, I will do more. One day, I shall kill
Loki. I am not certain of how and less certain of when, but kill him
I shall. Even though he is blood-brother to the lord I serve and even
though he is shielded by the Aegis, I will find a way. The time is
not yet right for me to swear a solemn oath to avenge my flesh's
father, as Gaeira avenges her family. But when and if the Myriad are
defeated, Loki will pay for his crime. Until then, I must bite my
tongue and count him an ally against the common foe that would 
see us both annihilated.

Giving thanks to Hephaestus, I speed back to the
surface, leaving the smith to scrape along slowly behind. I would not
be late and let my brothers finish all the wine.

There is plenty of wine left when I reach the
Atlantean barracks. As day turns to evening and evening to night, I
drink my share and tell of my journey on the path of the ravens. I
tell of my first encounter with Gaeira, of her felling of a frost
giant, of Heimdall's fortress of Himinbjorg, the bridge of rainbows
and the city of Asgard, of Odinn and Yggdrasil and the Well of Mimir.

There are just two things which I am careful not
to tell them, even as the wine loosens my lips: that I met Ayessa and
know her whereabouts; and that Gaeira and I are, I think, lovers, or
something like it. The first I must keep secret for Odinn, the second
to prevent any Atlantean from speaking disrespectfully of Gaeira, as
drunken men are wont to do, lest she somehow hear of it and hurt the
speaker-if I didn't first.

I awaken the next morning in the barracks to
someone insistently nudging me. I open my eyes and learn it is Crow.
I do not recall having gone to sleep.

"Thamoth!" Crow says sharply.
"Thamoth, wake up. Your friends are here to collect you."

His words banish sleep and send me leaping to my
feet. I feel tired, but not miserable. Some blinking and rubbing of
my good eye allows me to see clearly, at which point I observe Baldr
and Gaeira standing just inside the barracks door. Baldr looks mildly
amused. Gaeira looks herself.

"If you are ready, Thamoth..." Baldr
says.

Around me, Atlanteans speak in voices filled
with awe: "It's her, the giant-killer!" "I want to
fight her." "I want to do other things." "Go ask
her-she'll chop down your tiny tree!"

I take a lesson from Gaeira and ignore them.
Stepping over the bodies of my still sleeping brethren, I walk to
where my companions await me. When I reach them, Baldr swats my arm.
"Why was I not invited?"

"Next time," I assure him.

I delay looking at Gaeira, for I feel
embarrassed in her eyes to have behaved in this manner, showing none
of the discipline she demands of herself. When I meet her gaze, I do
not hide my shame. The look she returns is a subtle one, as ever, but
it tells me, I think, that she is not offended.

"Did you lose something?" Baldr asks
me. In answer to my quizzical look, he taps his left eye, which in
turn sends my hand the same spot on my own face, where I feel only a
sunken socket. I spin and look around the barracks. I could not bear
to leave behind my patch, my gift from Dalla.

Crow comes to my aid. He goes to one of our
sleeping brothers and rolls him over in his bed to reveal my patch
over his eye. Crow removes it, with the sleeper none the wiser, walks
it to me and places it in my palm, which he then clasps.

"I suppose you must leave now," he
says. "But we shall meet again in this Great Host and kill many
more ugly sacks of snot together."

"I would prefer to meet under other
circumstances. Absent... snot."

"Then we will simply have to kill them all,
so they can't come back," Crow answers. "And when that is
done, we will raise our cups, all of us, together-Aesir, Vanir,
Chrysioi, Atlantean."

All present apart from Gaeira show their
approval. When we have gathered our few belongings, a crowd of
Neolympians walks our delegation to the gates. Among them is Loki,
wearing a smug look on his stolen face. I do not look at him, lest my
anger get the better of me.

I do manage to share a look with Hephaestus, who
nods: the deed is done. Athena has been moved to safety, and a
rightful ruler awaits to one day take Loki's place-before or after I
kill him. I care not which.

"Loki told us much about the Chrysioi,"
Baldr says as we descend the winding mountain trail on foot. "For
example, these 
sown men
. Did you know they spring fully
formed from seeds planted in the soil and serve whomever plants
them?"

I suspected from the Spartoi's name and behavior
that they were not people, as such, but the whole truth was unknown
to me. Rather than admit my ignorance, I say nothing.

"Fortunately for Loki, they are none too
clever. They were fooled by his disguise." Baldr pats his pack.
"I have two seeds with me, here. And something else, too. Do you
know of ambrosia?"

"Yes," I say. "It is a fruit with
magical properties which the Chrysioi consumed in their home world."

"Aye," Baldr says. "You were led
to believe that the trees planted here withered in the climate of
Jotunheim, no?"

I look at Baldr to find him smiling.

"There is a secret grove in the valley
where it thrives," he goes on. "The Chrysioi possess the
fruit in abundance and keep it from you Atlanteans. Loki has sent
some with me. We Aesir are strong and long-lived naturally, but
mayhaps this fruit can benefit us anyway."