The Gospel of Loki (10 page)

Heimdall’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t underst—’

‘Bye-bye, Goldie,’ I said, and grinned. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

He left, grinding his golden teeth so violently that sparks flew.

‘You got the necklace,’ Odin said, turning back to me.

‘Of course.’

‘Let me see it.’

I kept a straight face but inside I was grinning.

Oh, the Old Man was sweet on Freyja, all right, in spite of his comfy marriage to Frigg. Freyja liked to encourage it, as she encouraged everyone – but saving a special smile for him, and cultivating a girlish flutter whenever Odin was around. His admiration gave her status, of course. And even Allfather wasn’t immune to a little flattery.

I affected an air of sorrow as I handed over the necklace. There was no denying either its beauty or its value. The runes that held it together shone like captive shards of starlight, and the many gemstones spun into the work gleamed like the tears in a woman’s eyes.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked. ‘Keep it? Wear it? Give it back?’

Slowly, Odin shook his head. Behind him, on the back of his throne, his ravens – Hugin and Munin, the physical manifestations of Allfather’s thoughts in bird form – clicked their beaks and glared at me.

‘Leave me alone. I need to think.’

I grinned and sauntered back to my rooms, where I slept like a babe for the rest of the night. I doubt whether Odin did, but then, that was kind of what I was going for.

I woke with the sun, showered and shaved, and was just contemplating a spot of breakfast when I heard a terrific commotion coming from Allfather’s hall. Freyja had discovered the loss of her necklace and, finding the doors to her chamber unlocked, had rightly suspected Yours Truly.

‘Where is my
necklace
?’ she was screaming as I wandered into the hall.

Odin was sitting on his throne, a bird on either shoulder. His face was stony. Only the birds moved.

Freyja saw me come in. ‘
You!
You broke into my chamber!’

‘Who, me?’

Freyja turned to Odin. ‘
Yes!
Loki stole my necklace. He crept into my room, like a thief, and stole it from me as I slept. I want him punished. I want him
dead
. And I want my
necklace
!’

‘What, this?’ Odin said, pulling it out of his pocket.

Freyja coloured. ‘Give it to me.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty bauble,’ he said. ‘Was it very expensive?’

Now she grew pale. ‘Hand it over,’ she said.

‘Four nights. That sounds like a bargain,’ said Odin in his cold, silky voice. ‘Ivaldi’s sons got a good deal.’

Freyja’s expression hardened. ‘You don’t own me, Odin,’ she said. ‘You can’t tell me what to do. The necklace is mine. I paid for it. Now give it back.’

He did not reply. On his shoulder, one of the birds scratched its dark head with a claw. Nothing else moved. The Old Man might have been carved from granite.

Freyja started to cry then. She could do that at will, golden tears to melt the heart of the sternest of men. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’ll do anything . . .’

‘I think we’ve established that,’ I said.

Odin gave a little smile. It wasn’t a good smile, but Freyja must have taken it as a sign of capitulation. She draped herself on Odin’s arm and peered at him through her lashes.

‘I’m yours,’ she said. ‘If you want me . . .’

The smile became a skull’s grin.

‘Oh yes,’ said Odin. ‘I want you. But that rune you bear – the rune
Fé
– is more than just the desire for gold. I’m giving you a new Aspect, Freyja. Desire cuts both ways, like a double blade. It can mean love. But it’s also the lust that drives a man to his own death, the lust for blood and violence. Henceforth, you will spread that desire everywhere in the Middle Worlds; you’ll set men against each other, you’ll lie, you’ll use your charms to deceive, to betray, and even then they’ll worship you. Even as they bleed and die, they’ll only want you even more, with a desire that only Death can satisfy for ever.’

‘What about my necklace?’ Freyja said.

‘Yes, I’ll give it back,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’ll never take it off. I want you to wear it so neither of us will ever forget what happened here.’

‘Whatever,’ said Freyja. ‘The necklace, please.’

Odin handed it over.

And that’s why the Goddess of Desire has two Aspects: the Maiden, ripe and beautiful as a golden peach in summertime; and the Crone, the carrion demon of battle, hideously beautiful, gloved in blood to her armpits and screaming with unsatisfied lust.

LESSON 2

Apples

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. No one’s immune to bribery.

Lokabrenna

I
T WAS A VERY SMALL REVENGE
, but it pleased me, nevertheless. I hadn’t been planning to challenge the gods, just cause as much distress as I could without arousing suspicion. And the business of Freyja’s necklace had already caused its share of distress – to Freyja and the Vanir, of course, but also to Heimdall, whose position of trust I’d undermined; to Frigg, Odin’s wife, whose loyalty had taken a hit; and, of course, to Odin himself, who had revealed himself to be an old fool of the most classic kind, losing his head over a girl.

And the greatest thing about it? They’d brought their sorrow on themselves. All I did was tell the truth and let their nature do the rest. Greed, hatred, jealousy – all the corrupting emotions with which Odin had infected
me
– coming home like pigeons to roost. I tell you, it was beautiful.

But that was only the start of it. An appetizer, if you like. One day I meant to have them all at my feet, begging for help, just so I could kick them aside and laugh as they went tumbling . . .

Still, all in good time, I told myself. It takes more than a
couple of stones to bring down an enemy fortress. And I had all the time in the Worlds to bring the Old Man to his knees. I decided to play it safe for a while, to try and play at being one of the guys until a new opportunity arose. As for Odin, as far as he was concerned, I’d paid him back for Brokk and the awl, and now he figured we were square.

But as time passed, I realized that the business with Freyja had changed him. He became increasingly moody and withdrawn. He’d always been fond of travelling but now he left Asgard more often than ever – alone, except for Sleipnir, his horse – and often for weeks and months on end. No one knew where he went during those long absences, but I knew he favoured the Middle Worlds, and most especially Inland, where he walked unseen and in disguise and the Folk told all kinds of tales about him.

True, he spread most of them himself, posing as a travelling storyteller, but he liked them anyway, and he enjoyed the way in which the Folk expressed their devotion. What he enjoyed less was the fact that Thor was by far the more popular, at least as far as the Folk were concerned. I suspect there may have been a little friction between father and son; Thor’s muscle provided excellent protection for Asgard, but secretly Odin was dismayed that he and his son were so different. As for his youngest son, Balder – well. Frigg adored him, but Odin – well. Suffice it to say that whenever Balder was around, Odin always found an excuse to be somewhere else.

I could see why. There was darkness in Odin, a darkness that only I understood, and I could see how it preyed on him, eating him from the inside. Still, that’s the price of godhood, folks. Maintaining Order isn’t easy, especially in a world in which Chaos is always struggling to regain the upper hand. The little world of Inland gave the Old Man comfort, somehow; that’s why he went there so often, although he also ventured as far as the realms of the Rock Folk and Ice Folk, always in secret and in disguise, telling no one where he went, not even Frigg –
not even me.

Meanwhile, back in Asgard, things had settled down for a while. Heimdall still hated me from afar, but after his last humiliation he was afraid to say too much. Thor had his hammer to play with, Bragi was learning the bagpipes, Balder was working his pectorals and Frey was engaged on a romantic quest. More of that later. But Yours Truly had time on his hands for exploring the Worlds, and Odin was more than happy for a temporary change of scene.

You recall he liked to travel alone? This time, he wanted company. I was more than willing; besides, I was getting restless too. There’s only so much a man can achieve within four walls. I needed air. I needed new sensations. I was finally coming to terms with my current Aspect, and with the fact that bad smells, pain, cold and some of the more disgusting requirements of my physical body could be tempered by its insatiable capacity for pleasure.

Women and food I already knew – I had an appetite for both – but I guessed that the Worlds outside might contain considerably more than that. Besides, if I was to bring down the gods, I wanted to know their enemies. As it turned out, I got to know some of them just a little
too
well – but I’ll get to that later.

And so, when Odin suggested a little trip out of Asgard, I was happy to oblige. There were three of us: the General, Honir and Yours Truly. Remember Honir the Silent? The same young man that Odin had sent with Mimir to spy on the Vanir long ago. A vapid, indecisive type, better at sports than at thinking. Basically, an expendable, which was why Odin chose to take him along. As for myself, I like to think that Odin valued my company; or maybe it was just to make sure I didn’t cause trouble while he was away.

We crossed Bif-rost into Inland, the centre part of the Middle Worlds, and, using the rune
Raedo
for speed, made our way through the Ridings, keeping to the less-travelled roads, until we reached the Northlands. It was an area Odin liked for some
reason; I personally found it too cold, but Wildfire
is
my nature. In any case, we found ourselves travelling through mountains; huge, looming, dark mountains with slices of narrow valley between and winds that cut like razors. Beyond lay the realm of the Ice People; another area of incomprehensible fascination for the General. Perhaps he had a mistress there – the Old Man had a roving eye – or maybe it was just his way of keeping track of his enemies.

We travelled for days; Odin morose; Honir talking constantly – about the scenery, the sheep in the fields, the funny dream he’d had last night, speculating on whether we were there yet, how many leagues we must have travelled, or how long it was to lunchtime . . .

Odin had his horse with him, but Sleipnir too was in humbler Aspect, and the steed with a foot in eight of Nine Worlds was now just an ordinary roan, vaguely red in colour, with only the standard number of legs. It meant we had to take turns to ride, which I for one thought rather a waste, but Odin would have it no other way, and so I endured the discomfort and hoped he appreciated my sacrifice.

Our supplies had long since run out, and all of us were hungry. There was clearly to be no nipping back to Asgard for lunch, riding Sleipnir in full Aspect. So, finding a herd of wild oxen grazing in one of those narrow valleys, we killed one, butchered it, lit a fire and started to roast the animal in pieces among the hot coals.

Odin sat down on his bedroll and lit his pipe (another habit of the Folk he’d picked up on his travels).

‘See how simple all this is? Just the three of us and the fire, with the open sky overhead.’

I looked up. I didn’t see that the sky looked any different from the sky we could see in Asgard, but when Odin was in poetic mood, there was no reasoning with him.

‘Is the meat cooked?’ Honir said.

Odin shook his head. ‘Just wait. Listen to the sound of the
wind. Don’t you think it calls to you?’

I could have told him that the only thing that was calling to me was that haunch of beef over the fire, but then I thought better of it.

And so we waited. And waited. I was getting very hungry. Of all my new physical sensations, eating was one of the ones I preferred, but actual
hunger
– I wasn’t a fan. The scent of roasting flesh was so good that my mouth was watering. My stomach was cramped with anticipation. We waited until we were sure it was ready, then raked the meat out of the ashes, only to find it was still cold.

‘What’s this?’ I said. ‘That beef should be cooked.’

Odin shrugged. ‘Put it back. It can’t have been cooking for as long as we thought.’

We put the meat back on the fire and covered it in hot coals. Night began to fall. The icy mist that during the day had kept mostly to the mountaintops began to roll down into the valley.

Honir asked: ‘Is it ready yet?’

‘How the Hel should I know?’ I said.

‘Should we check? I think we should check.’

I pulled a haunch out of the fire. I like my beef pretty rare, and I was more than ready for lunch. But the piece of meat was as cold as ever, not even seared on the outside.

I cursed. ‘This isn’t right,’ I said.

‘Do you think someone’s using glam?’ Honir said.

‘Well,
duh.’

I looked around. And we saw, above us, in a tree, a giant eagle watching us.
Bjarkán
, the rune of true vision, revealed it to be no ordinary bird; its eyes gleamed with evil intelligence.

It saw us watching and gave a croak, flexing its powerful wings.

‘Ark.
Share your meal with me,’ it said, ‘and I’ll make sure the meat is cooked.’

I could see the glam around the bird; he had a powerful signature. A demon, I guessed, or a scavenger; or maybe one of
the Ice Folk in bird Aspect, flying south to explore the terrain. In any case, our position was weak and it didn’t seem wise to dispute him a share of the spoils.

‘I think we should share,’ Honir said. ‘Don’t you agree that we should share? I mean, if we share we’ll get to eat soon. And birds don’t have much of an appetite. Don’t the Folk say “he eats like a bird” when someone doesn’t have much of an appetite?’

Odin agreed to the bargain. The ox was a good size, he said, and besides, as Honir suggested, how much could an eagle eat?

Turns out that particular eagle could eat almost a whole one. As soon as the ox was ready, it grabbed both haunches and the rump, leaving us with little more than the carcass. Then it took the pieces onto a nearby outcrop of rock and began to tear at the flesh, noisily and with relish.

Let me explain for a moment here. I was very hungry. I’d had a long and exhausting day. I’d had to listen to Honir’s inane conversation for hours. I was cold and frustrated, and the only food for miles around was fast disappearing into the gullet of a great, greedy bird. So shoot me. I lost my temper.

I picked up a length of branch.

The eagle kept on eating, tearing at the pieces of meat with its brutal, bloodstained claws.

I raised the branch with both hands and aimed a swipe at the eagle. It struck. But the moment the blow connected, I felt a sudden surge of glam run through my body and my arms. At the very same time, I found that my hands were frozen onto the piece of branch, which in its turn stuck to the eagle. A blaze of runelight surrounded us both. I sensed that maybe I’d been just a
little
unwise.

‘What’s happening?’ said Honir.

I ignored him and tried to shift Aspect. But whatever glam was affecting me had robbed me of my power to change. I was trapped; my hands were caught, and now the bird spread its powerful wings and, rising above the outcrop of rock, lifted me with it into the air.

‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘Hey! Let me down!’

The eagle said nothing but rose higher, now flying in a steep diagonal towards the rocky mountainside. Its wings beat with smooth and vigorous strokes; helplessly I just hung on. Below me, the figures of Odin and Honir receded into the rolling mists.

I started to feel a little scared.

‘All right! I’m sorry I hit you!’ I said.

Still the eagle did not speak. My arms were hurting.

I said: ‘Come on. A joke’s a joke. Put me down and finish your lunch. You can even have my share if you like.’

The eagle made no response but continued its trajectory, angling low towards the scree that covered the flank of the mountain. I saw the ground approach at speed and braced myself for a hard landing.

But the eagle did not land. Instead it dipped low across the scree, dragging me along the ground. My hands were still caught; I couldn’t escape. I tobogganed across the scree, the stones and rocks and boulders.

That pain thing again. I’m not a fan. I howled and struggled and begged for release; cracking my ribs against a rock; skinning my backside on the gravel; barking my shins and ankles repeatedly over a xylophone of little stones.

‘Why me? What did I do?’

Still, the eagle did not reply, but concentrated on giving Yours Truly the ride of his life; first along the skirt of scree, then up through a narrow chimney of rock, then through the topmost branches of a sizeable stand of trees, that whipped and tore and flailed at me as I was dragged through the canopy.

By then I was screaming for mercy. My clothes were torn; I’d lost my boots; I was bruised and bleeding. I felt as if I’d been beaten, first by a dozen men with cudgels, then by the same dozen men with whips, then set alight, and then beaten out like a dusty carpet.

‘Please!’ I said. ‘I’ll do anything!’

Finally, the eagle spoke. ‘
Ark.
You will?’

‘I swear!’ I said.

‘
Ark
.’ The voice was harsh and dry. ‘Swear you’ll bring me Idun, and her golden apples. Then I’ll let you go.’

‘Idun?’ Too late, I saw the trap.

‘And the golden apples.
Ark.’

I started to protest. ‘But how? How could I even do that? She never leaves Asgard. Bragi’s with her all the time. She’s—
Owwww!
That was unnecessary!’