Loki: Why I Began the End (10 page)

CHAPTER TEN: RETRIEVING MJOLLNIR

Thor and I weren’t sufficiently sober until the following afternoon. We clambered up to Asgard, where his wife Sif sorted through her gowns for a white one that could be altered to fit her husband. However, once the gown was chosen, she was forbidden to see him again until he returned with his hammer. Thor also had Tyr make sure no other Aesir could peer in on him as I helped him fit on the dress and veil. Once I stepped back to see my bearded comrade in the flowing white silk, I laughed until my knees couldn’t support me, and I fell to the ground. Freya herself isn’t the frailest or daintiest female, so to see the oak tree figure of Thor in white, his muscles and sinews almost tearing the fabric, his stern, blood-shot gaze surrounded by soft lace, the thought of him passing as a blushing bride was impossible—and hysterical. I didn’t stop laughing until the sole of his foot met my face with a strangling stench and a threat to bash my nose into my brain.

     I do miss that brawny bastard sometimes.

     Then I couldn’t get him to step outside. Tyr assured him fifty times over that he wouldn’t be seen by another Aesir, but Thor still wouldn’t budge.

      “Get moving already!” I sighed. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we’re done. If anyone laughs at you, I’ll put their name on a list, and you can pummel them when we get back.”

     Then a smirk slowly sprouted from under his veil. “I’m not doing this alone, Loki.”

      “I know; I’m going with you.”

      “No, I mean a bride shouldn’t go to her wedding without a bridesmaid.”

     I scoffed and shook my head wildly. “Oh no, you don’t! I’m just the plan master.”

      “If I’m going down, you’re coming with me.”

     Any protestations I could come up with fell on deaf ears. Between him and Tyr, I somehow found myself in a white spring dress with a flower garland on my head. Yeah, you think that’s funny, don’t you? But, hey, with my scrawny frame and clean-shaven face, I was awfully pretty. You should be grateful I didn’t cross-dress for our wedding; I would have pulled focus.

     I was just kidding! Okay, so I deserved it, but that’s going to leave a mark…

     So anyway, looking at Thor’s guise, I couldn’t help but think something was missing, some definitive feature that, despite his ogre shape, would convince the giant that this bride was Freya. Granted, Thrym wasn’t very bright, but with Thor looking like a net full of boulders, he needed all the help he could get. Then I realized what the perfect finishing touch would be: Freya’s necklace, Brising-whatever. Not only did that bauble catch people’s attention more than the goddess’s eyes, but it would be undeniable proof that the bride I presented was Freya.

     Of course, there would be no convincing Freya to give it up. Because of the multiple infidelities she enacted to possess it, her husband left her. Not even
that
moved her to dump the thing in the Rhine. I knew I would have to borrow it discreetly—or in plain terms, steal it. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be too difficult: Since her husband left, she fell into the habit of hiding her depression by taking an afternoon nap. On the other hand: Heimdall, watch guard of Asgard, could hear my approach to her home and catch me in the act. That sneak could smell a fire before it burned, and could hear the flints strike from ten miles away. No wonder he passed as an Aesir so well. I would need to distract him somehow.

     I struck a casual conversation with Tyr. Because of his respect for my son, I in turn respected him. I complimented his dexterity in changing sword arms with such ease, using his formerly dominant hand for a shield. I then segued into encouraging him to visit Fenrir again. I know he hadn’t since he was chained, but I assured him that my son had forgiven him and would appreciate the company. Not only did I believe in my words, but they worked to my purpose: As Tyr approached where Fenrir was chained, Heimdall’s attention was directly fixed to their meeting, wondering if the wolf would attack again. Now that the guard was distracted, I made my way to Freya’s home.

     As I came close to where she slept, she stirred. I immediately formed into the likeness of her ever-distant husband Odur—she would have seen through my bridesmaid guise easily. Her eyes opened completely, and she smiled. It was…weird. She had never smiled at me before.

      “My husband!” she sighed. “Do I dream, or have you finally returned to me?”

      “This is just a dream.” I made my voice somewhat hypnotic.

     Her smile diminished. “Why do you torture me with your image?”

      “I am only here as a reminder: No matter how far I am from you, we have each other in our dreams.” It took all I could muster to not wince at such sentimentality.

      “You are right, my love. But before I depart from this dream, let me have a kiss.”

     I swallowed a laugh. After all, this did work toward my goal. Mind you, that’s all it was: a means to an end. So as I leaned in and touched my lips to hers, I carefully unfastened the necklace from her neck, hastily hiding it behind my back. As she had closed her eyes for the kiss, she slipped off back to sleep. Then I reverted back to myself in my bridesmaid costume and ran out as fast as I could.

     I’m laughing because it was funny, not because I
enjoyed
it. And no, I’m not blushing—I don’t blush. Come on, it was all to help get Thor’s hammer back. Okay, fine; if it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and…Well, you could’ve used the other cheek this time…Yeah, like that. Better? You should be; that really stings.

     That necklace really did help a lot, anyway. Even buried under the veil, it sparkled. With Thor’s disguise complete, we were ready to see Thrym.

     We reached Jotunheim near twilight—I think the dim lighting was to our advantage. As we passed through to Thrym’s cliff-side home, I had to keep all the other Jotun at bay, shouting, “Make way for Freya, bride to Thrym!” When we arrived at his home, all his kin were assembled—I could tell green teeth and hairy underarms ran in his family. And Thrym himself stepped forth, a vision in ragged, dirt-clumped furs. I presented Freya-Thor, and he smiled wide.

      “Freya has come to marry me!” he exclaimed. He gave his bride a crushing embrace, then stared for a moment at the veiled face. “Freya’s eyes burn like coals.”

     I made up an excuse: “That’s because she hasn’t slept all these nights, in anticipation of her wedding day.”

     That worked; his smile grew. “Then let the wedding feast begin!”

     He wrapped his arm around Thor’s and pulled him over to the table set up for the occasion. The table was overcrowded with food—for me, the only perk of the whole mission. As soon as we sat down, Thor and I engaged in a ritual pastime: an eating contest. No words or glances needed to be exchanged; the challenge was instinctively suggested every time we sat down at a dinner table together. I waited until he loaded up his plate, then loaded mine up with the same amount. While these contests could at times come close, there was no competing with the Thunder God when he’s anticipating a battle. He ate an entire ox-worth of beef, a stream-worth of salmon, and polished off five casks of mead.

      “Freya eats like a wolf,” Thrym observed.

      “That’s because she’s just anxious for her wedding,” I explained. “The sooner the feast ends, the sooner the ceremony can begin.”

     He grinned and finished off the remaining food with one bite and gulp. He then pulled Thor out of his chair and dragged his bride-guise over to the stone archway crudely assembled for the ceremony. He knelt down in front of Thor and unsheathed Mjollnir. I could see the vein in Thor’s neck start to throb, and I knew a massacre would soon follow.

     Thrym presented the hammer to his false bride, saying, “With this hammer, I wed you, Freya.” As he released the hammer, he peered into the veil. “Ah! Freya is smiling at me!”

      “That’s because she’s eager to kill you,” I remarked, removing the veil from Thor’s head. “Hang on,” I told him as I unlatched Freya’s necklace. “Don’t want any blood on this. Okay, go ahead.”

     I didn’t stay for what followed. In short, Thor eradicated Thrym and his entire family. So I left and changed out of my bridesmaid’s costume, walking around Midgard with Freya’s necklace and wondering how to smuggle it back to its owner. By then, I knew she was up from her nap, and of course she knew it was gone. If I returned it, whatever my excuse for taking it, she would strangle me with my own tongue. I thought for a moment about giving it to Hel—none of the Aesir ever visit her, anyway—but I didn’t want to get her in trouble, nor did I want her to acquire the curse of materialism. So the only decision that made any sense was to throw it into the Rhine, knowing the Rhine Maidens would appreciate it without asking questions.

     I never made it to the Rhine. Crossing just by Yggdrasil’s trunk, I was tackled to the ground by something I didn’t even see coming—it was Heimdall. Ram Boy had me pinned to the ground so that I could barely move before I even heard his feet shuffle through the grass.

      “Where’s Brisingamen?” he demanded.

      “I told you, Freya, you keep acting like a man, someday you’re going to turn into one.”

     He clutched my shoulders and beat me against the ground. “Where is it?”

     I at first entertained the thought of misdirecting him—to tell him that I already threw it in the Rhine, and he had to go fish it out. As much fun as that would have been, it would have just dragged out the inevitable. “Calm down; it’s right in my pocket.” I squirmed my hand into my pocket and took out the necklace. “There. You can give Freya her pet back; I don’t want it. And when you give it to her, you can add that it helped Thor get his hammer from the Jotun.”

      “I’m not passing along any of your lies, you leech.”

      “
Leech
?”

      “That’s all you are, after all. You leech off the power and prestige of the Aesir without contributing anything useful to our cause.”

     I just laughed. “Whose idea was it that got Thor his hammer back? Who does Odin call on whenever the Aesir have any kind of problem?”

      “You may be able to fool them, but you can’t fool me.”

      “Are you kidding me with this?! Who’s fooling Odin? Who’s the leech? Better yet: Which one of us is the Aesir half of the changeling pair?”

     For a moment, his eyes almost popped out of his head. But then they glared murder as he struck me hard against the ground. “How do you know that? Doesn’t matter; no one would believe you.”

      “Maybe I’ll tell Odin and find out.” I escaped him by forming into a fly and buzzing away.

     Heimdall wasn’t deterred—he snatched me out of the air like he was picking lint off his sleeve, then he tried to crush me in his fist. “Odin’s gone from Asgard, anyway, on a quest.”

     I formed into a tortoise, prying his fist open until he dropped me. Then I formed into a raptor and shot into the air, just missing his attempt to ground me. Satisfied with the safe distance between us, I perched on a branch of the ash tree and called to him, “He won’t be gone forever! And in his absence, it could be fun to stir up some rumors among the other Aesir!” I could see that he was taking me seriously, so I added, “Clear things with Freya, and maybe I’ll keep your drunken ramblings secret for awhile longer!”

     Knowing his flying pony would be probably be along soon, I didn’t wait for a reply—I took off toward the sky, trying clumsily to control the amazing speed of my feathered form.

     That’s why I didn’t return home until the next day. Can’t remember if I ever told you that. Then again, you probably got used to me vanishing without a trace for untold hours or days. Why did you put up with that? No, never mind. If you start mulling over an answer, I might never see you again.

     Well…at least now you always know where I am.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SAVING BALDER

     Now I’m coming to the part that it all really boils down to.

     Unfortunately, my remedy for Balder’s mental wellbeing didn’t last. Once Thor got his hammer back, things returned to normal in the alehouse. Everyone assembled to hurl random objects at Odin’s son, laughing as they struck him like twigs against stone. Balder sat with his back to the room, hunched over his drink, head bowed.

     Then Thor strode in. Everyone silenced in anticipation, waiting for him to throw his hammer. He sat in his usual chair, ordered a pint, and drank it in one gulp. The one sitting beside him nudged his arm. Thor looked from him to everyone else in the room, showing that he acknowledged them. But he didn’t draw out his hammer; he just ordered more ale.

     I smiled—for a brief moment. When they all figured out he wasn’t throwing his hammer, they didn’t take the hint. They all proceeded to throw empty mugs, knives, horns, helmets, and even chairs. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped out from where I had been leaning against the doorway and shouted, “
Haven’t you had enough
?!” They all halted and looked toward me. “Yes, Balder is invulnerable, we get it! Don’t you have better ways to waste your time, like setting fire to your beards, or getting caught in an avalanche?”

     Then, I couldn’t believe how they reacted: They laughed at me. One jeered, “Poor Loki wants attention!” Another mocked, “Loki is jealous of Odin’s son!”

     I was so disgusted, I just growled and left. I wasn’t even two steps away from the alehouse when I turned and looked through the window: They picked up their game where they left off. Then Thor came out and stood beside me.

     “I can’t think why I ever went there,” he told me, looking back through the window with almost as much chagrin as myself.

      “I think it’s time for a change,” I decided. “A
real
change.”

     It was a simple plan: If Balder was actually injured, maybe the shock would finally get the Aesir to stop assaulting him. Now, however short my attention span may be at times, my mind will ensnare details that I know are of interest or may be of use to me. So, tracing back to my discussion with Frigg about her son’s protection, I remembered that she mentioned one thing that did not vow not to harm Balder: the mistletoe. Looking at the green tree with its dainty white berries, it does look innocent enough. But, really, if Frigg cared all that much about her son to take the trouble of asking everything in the world to vow, she should have been more thorough. I plucked a sprig of mistletoe and, with my dagger, whittled the stem into a sharp dart point.

     I thought I had it all figured out as I strolled to the alehouse the following day, but as I took the door handle, I remembered: I had vowed not to harm Balder. Maybe I could, so long as I wasn’t laying my hand on him, but if Odin were to find out, any such contingency could mean prolonged imprisonment for my son. I had to get someone else to throw it.

     For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, scanning over the sea of cackling imbeciles for a good candidate. I found the perfect man near the back of the room: Balder’s blind brother Hod. First of all, no one was even looking in his direction, so no one would see my involvement. Second, he was blind, which meant I could direct the aim of the mistletoe with his hand. And, altogether, I wouldn’t break my vow.

     I sauntered across the brawling mass to the corner where he stood, and whispered to his ear, “It’s amazing how everything just bounces off your brother. Why aren’t you throwing anything?”

      “I haven’t anything to throw,” he replied. “And I can’t see where to aim for him.”

      “You shouldn’t miss out on this. Here, borrow my dart. I’ll guide your hand.”

      “Okay. Let me know what happens.”

      “Of course.”

     I took out the mistletoe sprig and positioned it in his hand. I then leveled his arm so that his throw would land somewhere near Balder’s right shoulder. I wondered for a moment if Balder would be angered by it, but if it made the Aesir give up their inane ritual, I knew he would forgive me. So with my guidance, Hod threw the mistletoe.

     I was a complete idiot not to consider our position in the room. Being so far back, the dart had to fly through the air, which was polluted by other projectiles. Its flight course was redirected when it ricocheted off a thrown rock—it was going to miss Balder completely. But then he turned in his seat, facing the onslaught for a moment. “Loki?” he asked. He must have seen me enter. Before I could realize the target he was presenting, the mistletoe dart pierced into his chest—right into his heart. He clutched his chest in pain, looking down with confusion at the blood flowing out of him, and collapsed.

     The room fell instantly silent. I stared unblinking, waiting for Balder to wake.

      “What’s going on?” Hod’s voice cut through.

     Thor was the first to rise and check on Odin’s son. His voice was so suppressed by shock, that I nearly didn’t hear him: “He’s dead. Balder is dead.”

     I couldn’t believe it. I thought that Balder might have picked up my morbid sense of humor, or something. But then I knew…

     …

     …I knew that was inconceivable—Balder couldn’t possibly have a sense of humor that sick…

     Thor plucked out the dart and roared, “
Who threw this mistletoe dart
?!”

     Hod jerked in fear. “The dart killed him?”

     Thor threw people aside to cross the room to Hod. “You threw it, Hod?”

     Tears streaked from his glazed eyes as he said, “I didn’t know! I couldn’t see! Loki, he guided my hand! He gave me the dart!”

     Thor’s eyes burned like erupting volcanoes as he turned on me. “What is this, Loki?
What have you done
?!”

     I was so dumbfounded, that the only think I could think to say was, “What are you even doing here, Thor?”

     Snorting and snarling, he drew his hammer from his pocket and raised it over his head. Everyone surrounded him, chanting, “Crush-er! Crush-er! Crush-er!” The vein in his neck throbbed like a writhing serpent, and his face turned purple. But when he brought down his hammer, he thrust it into the ground, breaking the planking into mere splinters. He then grabbed me by my collar, thrusting his face to mine, and said, “We’ll bring him to Odin’s judgment.”

     I didn’t know what else to do but form into a fly and retreat out the nearest window.

     …

     And, well…that explains how you didn’t see me for a couple weeks. I hid myself in the last place anyone would look for me: my old Jotunheim house. Most of the time was spent on something I’d done very seldom throughout my life: self-reflection. I wondered how deserving I was of all the insults and suspicion tossed my way; how deserving I was of all the respect and camaraderie I managed to receive. This all largely revolved around the incident with Balder: What in my lifetime formed my brain such that it found logical merit in intending to harm Balder, in order to free him from harm? Why didn’t the possibility of my half-brother’s death ever enter my deranged mind?

     And why wasn’t I as sorry as I should be? At the root of any grief I felt, was a seed of triumph. After all, my plan did work: The Aesir stopped harassing Balder. Balder was beyond the harassment that belittled every virtue of his being into a mere target—that was it. That’s why I wasn’t sorry.

     One day, my thoughts were interrupted by a very unusual sound. I couldn’t quite define it—it sounded like shuddering, gasping, with the soft patter of rain. When I went to the window to identify the sound, I recognized the Aesir’s messenger, Hermod, approaching my house. I formed myself into an old giantess as he entered my home.

      “What is your errand here?” I asked in a withered voice.

      “I come on behalf of Odin’s son, Balder,” he said. “Balder is dead, and Odin has appealed to Hel for his release from the realm of the dead.”

     Curious as to how my daughter handled such a situation, I asked, “And what did she decide?”

      “She will only release him if everything in the world weeps for his death.” That explained the odd sounds—all the world was weeping. In my mind, I congratulated my daughter’s fine judgment: She recognized the courage of someone approaching her with such a request, but at the same time, granted no extra privileges on grounds of divinity.

     Hermod stared expectantly at me. “I appeal to you to weep in grief for Balder.”

     After only a moment’s thought, I set my wrinkled face stern and silent. “I have no cause to weep.”

     He looked at me with disbelief. “You what?”

      “I have no cause to weep.”

      “But you must. If even one thing in this world does not weep, then Balder will remain dead.”

     I only repeated, “I have no cause to weep.”

     His wide eyes fell into a glare. “Your name, then?”

      “Thokk.”

      “You will weep, Thokk, when Odin has dealt with you.”

     But as he left, we both knew that there would be no negotiation: Hel’s compromise was not met, and that was the end of it. Still, I knew that I couldn’t stay in my house to be found out. So I returned to my natural form and headed out of Jotunheim for new temporary lodgings.

     You remember that day, I’m sure. I don’t think anyone will ever forget it. The whole world was like a tapestry with its colored inks being washed away, the tears of everything streaking the landscapes into blurs. The world was drowning in its grief, accomplishing nothing except for a possible renewal—for the first time in history, all of creation had a common cause.

     All of creation, except me.

     Some days after the tears subsided, I decided to return to Asgard. I didn’t want to spend my days hiding, and it seemed obvious that Balder’s death wouldn’t be soon forgotten, so I decided to talk to Odin myself. So wise as he was, he could possibly understand how and why the incident occurred. If not, I could weave an interesting enough lie. I only knew that I couldn’t escape him forever, and I’d rather return to him of my own will and on my own terms, rather than being captured and dragged in by Heimdall or some other jerk.

     When I arrived in Asgard…Let’s just say I’m glad that you were away visiting Hel and Jor. Do you know what those Aesir were doing? Celebrating. When I arrived, a long dinner table was set up for a feast. There was food, wine, music, and dancing. No, I’m dead serious, that’s exactly what I walked into. They were so busy “making merry”, that they didn’t even notice my arrival until I approached my usual seat at the other end of the table and asked, “So what are we celebrating?”

     The music and laughter stopped. All eyes turned to me, including Odin’s.

      “So?” I asked again.

     Odin answered, “We are raising our spirits, after grieving Balder’s death.”

     My face contorted as I disguised my contempt and sat with my feet propped up on the table. “Oh. Isn’t that nice? Can’t have any of the Aesir feeling unhappy, you know.”

     I waited for Odin to give some order resulting in my capture and punishment. But all he said was, “I cannot turn you away, brother, but know that you are not welcome.”

     At first, I couldn’t believe my luck. I rose from my chair to leave, free from judgment, but looking on the scene, I remained. “You’re feasting
and
you’re releasing me?” I laughed in my disbelief. “What, was Balder an illegitimate child? Were you angry at him for befriending me?”

      “What’re you talking about?” Freya asked.

      “I’m just trying to understand this,” I said. “Usually, following the death of a loved one, there’s a more substantial grieving period. Usually, solemn reverence joins with a desire for justice, to understand the cause of death.” I scoffed. “But here in Asgard, we can’t be displeased. Instead of learning from the unpleasantness of life and giving its due respect, we toss it aside and hide it with parties. We can’t assume responsibility for our mistakes—we can’t even admit that we make mistakes.”

      “
We
have no mistakes to admit,” Freya said.

     I burst a louder laugh. “Are you kidding? Where do I begin? How about with you, m’dear?” I raised my voice. “Is it a wonder to anyone else why Freya’s husband Odur has been away for so long?”

     She curled her hands into fists. “That’s
enough
, Loki.”

      “It’s because she slept with five different dwarfs, one after the other, to earn that lovely necklace she’s wearing. Yes, she traded her fidelity, her marriage, and her self-respect for a shiny hunk of rock!”

     She feigned alarm and said, “You are nothing but lies!”

      “Do you want me to invite the dwarfs to this jubilant party to tell everyone the same thing? I’m sure they could give the story with far better details…”

     She rose and slammed her palms against the table, shrieking, “
That’s enough
!”

      “Loki…” Heimdall warned.

      “What’s that, Heimdall?” I asked. “Do you have something to say?”