Loki: Why I Began the End (8 page)

     “I had to know that I could trust you around Balder, and that if he should come to harm, I would have just cause for defending your innocence.”

     “Why do you even think that anyone would want to do Balder harm?”

     An earth-shattering scream split the air, and every hair on my body stood on end. It didn’t stop, either; it came on in desperate waves, battering our ears with pure terror. But the truly terrifying thing, was that it was all coming from Balder—who was still asleep. His body convulsed as he screamed and shouted involuntarily, each belt of his voice making my spine more rigid with fear. But Odin was cool as water. He knelt down beside his restless son and carefully sat him up. Balder finally silenced as his eyes opened—usually bright and merry, they were sunken with dread and fatigue. Odin spoke a few words, drawing rune symbols with his finger into Balder’s palm until he calmed and fell asleep again.

     “Is he alright?” I asked in a dead whisper.

     Odin returned to his seat beside me. “Nightmares. Ever since he was a child, he has dreamed of his destruction. He can never see his dreams clearly—only shapes and muffled sounds. But they attack him with promises of death.”

     I was silent a moment, disbelieving. “
Balder
?”

     Odin merely nodded.

     “But…
Balder
? His mind can’t even harbor such thoughts.”

     “The nightmares are messages from the Fates; I’m sure of it. So you must now understand my concern.” He prodded the spot where he had left one of the scars on my skin. “A reminder, brother. The fate I see for my son is far greater than any the Fates themselves may know. If you can help me to guarantee Balder’s safety…” He silenced for a moment and slapped my back. “…then I will do everything in my wisdom and power to see that your son Fenrir walks free among us once more.”

     It was one of the few suggestions that I was glad to consent to. “It’s a deal, brother.” I thought I understood then why he had been a party to chaining Fenrir. He suspected that my son could be a danger to Balder, for though the Golden Boy was gifted, his strength and ferocity was nothing to Fenrir’s. Of course, it seemed to me that Fenrir and Balder would get along fine, but it was common knowledge that sometimes Odin and his wife Frigg had perceptions into the future surpassed only by the Fates. I thought that maybe he had seen signs of a future event that would transpire—maybe by argument or accident, Fenrir would harm Balder; or he would appear to do so, and someone else would defend Balder by attacking Fenrir. Whatever the reason, at the time—for the first time—my son’s fate made sense, for Balder’s protection and for his own.

     Of course, now I know that Odin was really just saving his own hind end by chaining up my son. Idiot. Fenrir had no vendetta against him—
until
he was chained up. Odin sealed the fate he was trying to prevent. Of all people, Odin should know that fate can’t be avoided, not in any case.

     Not even in the case of Balder, as it turned out.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE UNIVERSAL VOW

When we returned to Asgard the following day, through the flood of Aesir welcoming Balder home, the Shining Boy insisted on meeting Fenrir, much to everyone’s surprise. Odin had no qualms about it, so I led Balder to where my son was chained and bound. All the other Aesir followed, all eager to jump to the rescue, should my son attack their most precious and beloved god. Fenrir just laid with his head on his crossed paws with a surly glance up toward the gathered Aesir, probably feeling like a village clown.

     I knelt down and stroked the soft fur atop his head. “Son, I want to introduce you to Balder, son of Odin. He has been very eager to meet you.”

     Fenrir just rolled his eyes up at me with a groan.

     Balder knelt down next to me, though a respectful distance away. “I am honored to finally meet you. I have great respect for your father.” With a smile, he added, “Especially his sense of humor. He makes me laugh like no one else.”

     Feeling a little more comfortable, Fenrir rose to all fours and grinned. “Has he ever told you about the time he had to make the giantess Skadi laugh? He tied a goat to—”

     I interrupted: “You don’t need to get along
that
well.”

     Balder approached more closely, his smile growing. “Come on, tell me. Just whisper it.”

     “Really,” I insisted, “you don’t want to know. It’s really not funny at all.” Nonetheless, Fenrir whispered the rest to Balder, who laughed and looked to me with disbelief. I just shrugged. “I owed her laugh. It’s partly because of me that her father Thiazi died.”

     Then Heimdall…No, I’m not telling you any more about the goat. So Heimdall…
No
! I’ve already been pouring my heart out for how many hours now; leave me some of my dignity. Come on, keep that bowl still, or the venom’ll splash out. So, as I was saying: Balder and Fenrir talking and getting along, right? Then Heimdall, for whatever stupid reason, starts to draw out his sword. I don’t know if he was afraid that Fenrir was going to get vicious, or if he was just jealous that Odin’s son was giving so much attention to a Jotun wolf man—but for whatever dumb reason, he drew his sword and took one step forward. Fenrir saw it, was instantly struck with anger and suspicion of some other trap, and lashed out and bit Balder’s hand.

     The Aesir gasped in unison and rushed forward. I stood in front of my son, separating him from Balder and protecting him from the mob. Then Balder shot up to his feet and held out his hands. “It’s okay!” he shouted. “No harm done!” To prove it, he showed both sides of the bitten hand—not a scratch. Knowing Fenrir’s strength, no one could believe it. “Heimdall, put your sword away. Fenrir may look like a beast, but he has the mentality of a man. He will not harm me without cause. And, as you can see, he cannot harm me, even if he so desired.”

     In awe, Thor looked over Balder’s hand. “What sort of magic is this, boy?”

     Balder sighed, realizing it was time to reveal his secret. He drew his dagger and sliced the blade across his hand. Not even a dent. He even offered to Thor smash his foot with his hammer Mjollnir. After some reluctant hesitation, Thor brought down the hammer on Balder’s foot with all his might—nothing. While everyone marveled at his invulnerability, I turned to Fenrir, completely dumbfounded.

     “Did you know about this?”

     “Of course,” he answered. “I didn’t want to hurt him; I just wanted those morons to back off.”

     I sat down beside him and whispered: “Do you know how he got his protection?”

     “His mother Frigg came to me and made me vow not to hurt him, said she was afraid for him. At first, I didn’t want to do her any favors—why should I? But Frigg is a lot more sane and compassionate than her husband. So I made the vow.”

     “Huh. I never thought I’d say this about anyone related to me, but you’re too nice.”

     He shrugged. “Could be, but I doubt it. She sings to me every day now. Even brings me Iduna’s apples to eat. Just as long as Odin doesn’t find out. Besides, now having met him, I know I made the right choice.”

     While his reply was interesting, it didn’t quite explain how Balder was safe from blades and divine hammers as well. I wanted to find out the whole truth, to see if I could protect my own children—even myself—in the same way. However, despite being her husband’s blood-brother, I really didn’t think Frigg would reveal the truth to me. After all, Odin turned into an owlbear and had me cut up just to prove that I wouldn’t hurt Balder—when they knew full well I wasn’t capable of hurting him, anyway. So I visited her in the form of an old woman.

     “You certainly have a hale son,” I said, my voice cracking. “How does he stay so strong and healthy?”

     Frigg smiled with that motherly pride and said, “I went all over the world and asked everything in turn to vow not to harm him.”

     “Gracious, what a task! Everything?”

     She nodded. “Everything.”

     “The thunderbolt and the thistle? And plague and disease, too?”

     “Of course.” She shrugged slightly. “Well, I did not make the mistletoe vow. It is too young to understand what I was asking of it. But we have no reason to fear the mistletoe.”

     Well, that killed any plans I had. No way I could get anything to vow not to harm my hated and feared children, especially by my appeal. I mean, even if I asked anything to not harm
Balder
, they would say “no”, just to spite me. So I just let that drop, and conceded that if anyone deserved such protection, it was Balder.

     I was so wrong…he didn’t deserve the treatment that protection gave him. Not at all.

     From then on, it became the favorite sport of the Aesir to throw various objects at Balder, just to watch them bounce off him. For the first couple days, I’ll admit it was somewhat amusing, and he gave them the satisfaction. But it quickly sank into banality. No matter where he went to find respite, there was always a gang of Aesir following along, battering him with whatever they could get their hands on and laughing raucously. You would think such advanced beings would tire of something so savage, but no—the fifth, tenth, and thirtieth day was just as funny as the first.

     Where Balder had been my favorite companion, he became someone I rarely saw from one day to the next. Not only was I in danger any time I stood near him—as nothing in all of Yggdrasil would vow not to harm me—but I was too disgusted by the Aesir to stand their continuous heathen display. I felt like my brain would melt the longer I endured around them.

     But even while I was away, I couldn’t get my mind off it. Somehow, I felt guilty about it—a repeat of how I felt when Fenrir was chained. I could have waited until we were alone to introduce him to my son, then the Aesir wouldn’t have discovered his invulnerability. What could I have done, or not done, to help Balder avoid it? Then I realized I was being ridiculous. After all, Balder wasn’t my son; he was Odin’s son. And in that vein, why wasn’t Odin doing something about it?

     That day of the week came around when Odin and I had our weekly day of fishing. We cast our lines, all fell silent, and I was determined to speak first.

     “So what are you going to do about Balder?” I asked.

     “What do you mean?” Odin returned.

     He was kidding, right? I wish. “Your son is constantly barraged by the people you ‘control’. Doesn’t that bother you?”

     “Balder can’t get hurt. Why should it worry me?”

     I felt like I was speaking to a baby who didn’t know how to talk yet. I spoke slowly: “Be-cause it’s an-noy-ing. Because ev-er-y wak-ing min-ute of the day, he is harassed.”

     “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

     “That’s only because he too damn nice to say anything. You’re his father—you’ve got to speak up for him. Make those Aesir stop.”

     “They’ll stop when they’re bored of it.”

     I just couldn’t believe the casual words coming out of the man’s mouth. “What is this—another one of your battles? Valhalla’s getting too boring for you, so you’d rather watch the gods pelt things at your son? For once, look beyond the war and the warriors—can’t you see that your son is miserable?!”

     He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Loki. Every life experience is a lesson. He’ll take my place as ruler of the gods someday. Things like this will teach him patience and endurance—and hopefully, it will teach him how to take a firm hand. If I fight this battle for him, he may never win one of his own.”

     I just rolled my eyes and sighed in exasperation. There was no convincing the man. Maybe five or ten days could be a life lesson. Over thirty days of such constant attacks could be permanent trauma. And what’s wrong with a ruler who’s humble enough to ask for help when he needs it? Even
I’ll
ask for help when I know I really need it. Then again, he had something of a point. Had Balder even tried to get them to stop? Had he said a single word against it?

     By then, Balder had stopped trying to escape the attacks. He went every day to the same alehouse in Midgard—which weeded out the few Aesir who resolved never to set foot outside of Asgard—and sat with his back to the room, not even feeling the objects slamming against him as he sipped his ale. I entered the fray, dodging everything I could, and sat across the table from Balder, where I could know when to duck. While he was sullenly staring into his mug, he lit up at the sight of me.

     “Loki!” he cried. “Let me buy you a pint.”

     “Sure, sure,” I said. “Look, haven’t you done anything to stop this? Have you said anything?”

     He smiled bitterly. “Yes, I have. Let me show you.” He turned around and stood up to address them all. “Everyone, listen!”

     No one silenced or stopped their play.

     “Please stop this!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Listen to what I have to say!”

     Nothing. No one even blinked. Their antics made them completely blind and deaf to him. Then, something happened that shocked and horrified me. In a fit of rage, Balder picked up his half-empty mug and hurled it. It crashed on the helmeted head of Hoenir, who just laughed at the liquor dripping down his face. With that, Balder turned around and sat back down, his jaw stern as he stared at the tabletop.

     I couldn’t believe it. Balder had gotten violent—if even for a split second. And though he hid it well, I could see through his eyes that he was in intense pain—it was the same look that Fenrir had greeted me with after his chaining. My son was never the same after that; he became crueler and more like the beast they had all accused him of being. Now they were turning Balder—the purest, wisest soul I’d ever known—into nothing more than a target with mounting anger. I couldn’t let that happen, even if Odin could. Of all the children in my life that suffered, I was going to save at least one of them. I was going to save Balder.

     My plan actually came just from whimsy. Since that day, I visited Balder at the alehouse every day, for whatever conversation we could manage. I quickly learned that the one event that was the highlight of this daily idiocy was when Thor would come in with his hammer—excuse me, Mjollnir—and hurl it at Balder, and it would strike the boy without a flinch. Balder told me he could tell when Thor threw his hammer at him, not because he really felt it, but because that’s when the laughter in the room would erupt to its fullest. At first, my scheme was just a musing that came to mind while watching the senseless act; I thought,
How hilarious would it be for Thor to reach for his hammer to chuck at Balder, only to find that it was gone! I bet the whole room would fall dead silent, and Thor’s cow-face would turn purple.
It made me laugh to think of it—the first time in a long time my laughter rang in that room. But then I realized that it could just be the perfect solution. Thor may accuse anyone or everyone in the room of being the thief; no one would show their face in that alehouse until the Thunder God was satiated again. Balder could finally have some peace, and I could have a fine joke.

     The execution was difficult. I only had between the time that Thor entered until the time he sat down to steal the hammer, and not just to prevent his throwing the thing, but also because he would usually have the hammer shrink to fit in his tunic pocket; no way I’d be able to lift the Crusher in its full size. I began as a mouse. To save time, I climbed up and sat myself on the inside door handle, so that when Thor swung open the door and shut it closed behind him, I jumped from the handle and grabbed hold of his belt. Hanging off his belt, I sidled over and swung into his tunic pocket, hitting my nose on the hammer. I opened my little vermin mouth as wide as I could and clamped onto the hammer’s pommel, pulling it out of the pocket. I fell to the floor, the then-small hammer falling with me and striking my skull. Then it started to grow. I formed into a cat to carry the hammer in my teeth, moving silently to the door, weaving between legs and under tables. The hammer became too large and heavy, so I formed into a dog. I lasted until I reached the closed door—a dead end. My only choice was forming back into myself, still on all fours, to reach up and open the door, lugging the hammer out after me.

     I’d made it outside just in time, because I couldn’t even drag the hammer behind me anymore. But my task still wasn’t over—any minute, Thor would sit down and find out his “Mjollnir” was gone, and I’d be stuck in his warpath.