The Songweaver's Vow

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “But….” Euthalia was having trouble forming words.

  “But it was Hodr. Hodr cast it. Not Loki.”

  “He is dead,” declared Freyr, rising from beside Baldr’s sprawled body. “Baldr is dead.”

  Thor turned in place and roared, “Loki!”

  Loki straightened. “What? I did not throw anything.”

  Hodr was working his mouth like a fish. “Dead? Dead? But I only—how could it have harmed him?”

  “Perhaps it is because you are his brother,” said Loki. “Perhaps that undid the protection.”

  “It is you, Loki!” snarled Thor. “We know it was you!”

  Loki raised his hands. “Now wait one moment,” he said. “This is a sacred field. We cannot shed blood here, not even mine.”

  “Blood has already been shed,” snapped Bragi.

  A number of the gods and goddesses about the fallen Baldr turned and started toward Loki. For a moment he looked at them worriedly, and then he sprang into the air and compressed into a smaller shape, unfolding two pointed wings and catching the air as a falcon. He climbed into the sky and sped away.

  Thor roared a series of expletives after the disappearing form as Euthalia stared open-mouthed. Hodr began to sob, going to his knees.

  Frigg rose beside Baldr’s handsome corpse, and the crowd quieted, turning toward the grief-stricken mother. Frigg turned her dreadful pale expression upon them. “Who here would earn my love and favor?” she asked in a terrible, level voice.

  A chorus of voices rose around Euthalia.

  Frigg nodded once, a sharp movement like the drop of a blade. “Then bring me Loki.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Valhöll was Odin’s greatest hall, but it was not his only hall. The einherjar, the dead warriors, were not invited to this function, but all connected to the Æsir and the Vanir were summoned. Euthalia could not have refused even if she wanted to. And she did not want to. Sigyn would need her.

  They stood close together, clutching hands, as they waited.

  Frigg sat rigid in her chair, weeping silently. Euthalia wanted to go to her, to put an arm around her and cry with her, but she could not leave Sigyn, and Frigg did not know Euthalia, to want comfort from her. But Frigg looked very alone as she sat there.

  There was a sound of hoofbeats, and Odin sat upright in his great chair, his face a carved mask like the wooden beasts on either side of him. “They have come,” he said simply.

  Sigyn’s fingers clawed into Euthalia’s.

  The doors at the rear of the hall opened, and a mounted party entered. At the front rode Kvasir, lent Odin’s own eight-legged horse Sleipnir to speed the search. He led the others inside, hooves loud in the anxious silence, and they drew to a halt in the center of the hall before Odin’s great chair.

  “He had hidden himself as a salmon in a waterfall pool,” reported Kvasir, “but we netted him out.”

  He hauled a bundle over Sleipnir’s quarters and dumped it onto the ground. Loki landed hard, naked and tangled in the netting. Sigyn gasped and choked, but the sound was swallowed by the angry murmur which arose from the onlookers.

  Euthalia looked around the assembled gods and Jötnar. Vidar, where are you?

  Sleipnir turned his head to look at the sprawled Loki, his ears pricked. Euthalia wondered whether the horse could recognize its parent, or whether it was merely curious as to the proceedings.

  Odin glared down at the dark-haired Jötunn, now kneeling within his tied-off net. “Why did you do it?” he demanded.

  Loki worked his mouth a moment to answer. His face was swollen and dark with bruising. “I did not kill Baldr,” he said, his voice thick. “I could not harm the shining god.”

  “Mistletoe.”

  All eyes shifted to Frigg. Her voice was quavering steel. “I sought an oath from all things, that they would not harm my son Baldr. All things, rock and wood and iron, but for the young mistletoe, which was too small and too weak to pose a threat.”

  “How was Hodr to know that?” asked Loki. “Or I?”

  “I told only one person of that omission,” said Frigg. “A bothersome old woman, who wanted to make chatter with me about every silly thing, even to the caretaking of my shining son.”

  “Then you have said yourself that there could be no way for Hodr to know—”

  “That old woman was you!” snapped Frigg. “You change your shape as you change your mind, Lie-Smith. You were a horse when it suited you to receive a stallion’s pleasure. You were a falcon when you needed to flee, and a salmon when you sought to hide. And you were an old woman when you wished to spy.”

  Loki raised his head to meet her gaze. “So your accusation is that I became an old woman in the hope that you would carelessly mention your favorite son’s only weakness, and then I put that single, improbable weapon into the hand of a blind man, in the hope that he would somehow be fortunate enough to strike down an invincible god with a green twig?” He shook his head. “It seems you have far more to blame in yourself and in Hodr than in me.”

  Frigg seemed to swell with rage, her arms rising from her chair as she leaned forward and hissed like a snake. “It—was—you!”

  “Enough!” Odin rose from his chair, and the room fell silent.

  He had done it, Euthalia saw. Loki had manipulated Baldr into suggesting a throwing contest and Thor into inviting fresh challenge against Baldr’s protection. He had set Hodr to throw the mistletoe at his otherwise-invulnerable brother. He had done it all.

  Euthalia recognized his guilt, and she remembered him sitting in the little offering circle, bloody and broken. She wanted to speak against him, wanted to speak for him, and the conflicting words bound in her throat and she could say nothing.

  Sigyn’s breath sobbed close beside Euthalia’s ear.

  Odin took a step forward, and the two wolves backed out of his way. “Hodr will be dealt with for his part in this,” Odin snarled. “But yours is the greater fault.”

  Loki looked up at Odin. “We are brothers, Odin. We are sworn brothers.”

  “That was before you killed my son.” Odin pointed. “But fear not, I will not have you killed. We will not soil the ground with your blood. But you will be bound, so you can do no further harm.” He raised a hand. “We will travel the Bifröst.”

  There was a gentle rumble and then light burst around them, breaking into a thousand prismatic points. Euthalia recognized the brilliance which had first brought her to Asgard from Aros. They were taking the rainbow road back to Midgard.

  The trip was longer than her first, either with farther to go or so many traveling at once. Her eyes only just had time to adjust and recognize individual streams of colored light, like being inside a waterfall of rainbows, when they came to an abrupt halt. The light cleared, and Euthalia blinked away the sparkles, and they were at the mouth of a cave.

  Two of Sigyn’s hands were about one of Euthalia’s, squeezing hard. Euthalia wrapped her remaining arm about her. She had no words for her.

  “Follow,” ordered Odin, and they did.

  They made their way into the cave, wide and low and filled with stalactites and crystalline formations which reflected back the torchlight. They had to pick their way across the ground, treacherous with stalagmites small and large. Kvasir’s men dragged Loki over them.

  Two gods from the pursuit party came to Sigyn and detached her from Euthalia. Euthalia stared after them as they guided Sigyn nearer to Odin. They remembered her now; would they punish her with Loki?

  “Euthalia!” barked Odin. “What was the name of the giant who stole fire?”

  Euthalia blinked and struggled for her voice. “Pro-Prometheus, Lord Odin.”

  Odin nodded. “Prometheus,” he repeated, shaping his mouth about the foreign word. “An outsider from before the time of the gods, who first allied himself with the gods and then betrayed the All-Father. Like you, Loki. But instead of stealing the shining fire, you stole the shining god.” Odin looked back at Euthalia. “This Prome
theus—tell us again what was done to him?”

  Euthalia stared at him. “I—I don’t—”

  “Tell us!”

  She swallowed. “He was bound to a rock with unbreakable chains, without sleep or respite as an eagle tore out his liver each day.”

  Odin nodded. “A fitting punishment for a traitor.” He raised a hand. “Bring them.”

  There was a prismatic burst and then two of the search party appeared, each with his hands resting heavily on the shoulders of an adolescent boy.

  “No!” gasped Sigyn. “No, they’ve done nothing! Leave them alone!”

  “No, Odin,” repeated Loki, his voice taut. “My sons have done nothing to offend you, not in all their lives.”

  “You have taken two of my sons,” said Odin, “in killing Baldr and in making Hodr the murderer who must pay. Now I will take two of yours.”

  Loki surged to his feet within the net, and Kvasir and the others caught at it to restrain him. “No! Odin, don’t do this!”

  “Please,” Sigyn urged, pulling against the men holding her, “please, they are only boys, they have done nothing, please—”

  The boys were staring wide-eyed at Odin and at their restrained parents. They did not speak as they looked anxiously back and forth.

  “Narfi?” asked Odin.

  The older boy, tawny-haired, nodded. “Yes, lord?” His voice cracked with youth and nerves.

  Odin raised a hand and pointed at him “Ver vargr.”

  Narfi stared for a heartbeat, confused, and then he abruptly convulsed in the grip of his captor, doubling over as he grasped his abdomen.

  “No!” roared Loki, clawing forward through the net. “No! Narfi!”

  Narfi looked to his father, his eyes wide and terrified, and then he folded to the floor, kicking and moaning.

  Sigyn shrieked and fought the hands holding her, but she was one woman against two warrior gods, and she could not break free.

  Narfi’s moans turns to howls, and his skin began to darken as it rippled over his seizing body. Bones cracked as his muscles jerked them out of shape, and as they watched he reformed, longer, lower. His clothing tore as he wrenched and writhed and grew out of it, and then he struggled to his feet—four feet—and snarled through the muzzle of a tawny wolf.

  “Nari,” called Loki. His voice was ragged and afraid, a tone Euthalia could never have imagined in him. “Nari!”

  The younger boy was staring at his brother, weaving on his new legs and growling in pain and terror. He tore his eyes away to look at his father, his eyes like twin moons.

  “Nari,” ordered Loki, “run. Now! Run!”

  Nari did not immediately understand, but then he twisted hard against the Æsir holding him. The god had expected it, but he was not prepared for the vicious bite Nari sank into the back of his unprotected hand, and with his involuntary jerk Nari broke free. He bolted for the light, the cave opening far behind them, past the wolf-shaped Narfi.

  The wolf jerked at the movement, reacted in pain-maddened terror, and struck Nari’s leg just above the back of the knee. Nari went down, screaming, and rolled to kick reflexively at the wolf with his free leg. The wolf snarled and dove onto the prone boy.

  Euthalia dropped to her knees, horrified and unable to react. What could she do, even if she could command her limbs to move?

  Sigyn was screaming, striking at the men holding her and straining forward to reach her thrashing sons. Loki was half-suspended in his net, held back by four Æsir, snarling out incoherent words and stretching one hand desperately toward the fight.

  It did not take long. The wolf severed the tendon so that Nari could not rise to run, and then it dove for the throat and bit hard. Nari was choked mercifully unconscious before the wolf turned to his abdomen and tore it open, dragging a mouthful of steaming intestine free.

  Sigyn’s shriek shook the cave.

  Euthalia couldn’t breathe. She could not speak, could not look away, could not blink for even an instant’s relief.

  Kvasir stepped forward, spear ready, and the wolf snarled and backed away. It looked down at its prey, and it froze, just for a few racing heartbeats, and Euthalia could not guess whether it was the wolf or Narfi who looked down. And then the wolf spun on its haunches and ran for the cave’s mouth, fleeing the staring spectators, and it disappeared into the light.

  Sigyn collapsed. Euthalia could not see whether she had fainted or merely lost the strength to hold herself upright to see more. Loki fell forward within the net, braced on hands and knees, his whole body shaking.

  Odin walked to Nari, dying on the floor, and reached down for a handful of stinking entrails. “This will do,” he said. “Bring him.”

  They dragged Loki’s net forward, and he did not resist.

  Odin kicked three grouped stalagmites, breaking them off to form three roughly even platforms. “A rock,” he said. “Bind him.”

  They lay Loki backward over the three flattened stalagmites, his head and lower legs hanging loose at each end. They drew out the entrails into long ropey strands and used them to bind Loki to the three stones.

  Loki did not resist.

  Euthalia wanted him to. She wanted him to fight, to cry the names of his children, but he was utterly lost in his stunned grief. She looked to Sigyn, who was sitting upright, braced against one arm, watching them bind her husband.

  “Bound,” said Odin. “And as this cave is not convenient to an eagle, we must call upon another. Your first two sons, Loki, were a wolf and a serpent to plague us. We have had another wolf here, and so I have brought another serpent.”

  He gestured, and someone brought a large bowl, containing a shifting bag knotted at the top. Odin pulled his heavy cloak carefully over his arm and then loosened the knot. A snake’s head emerged, tongue flicking. Odin caught it just behind the head and drew out the snake, long and lean. It opened its mouth, baring fangs, and venom dribbled onto Odin’s arm. The cloak sizzled and burnt thin where the venom touched.

  Loki shook his head. “Odin, please—”

  Odin strode to the ridged column behind Loki’s head, and he wound the angry snake about it and tied it into place by its own coils. The snake flexed and pulled but was unable to work free. Furious, it opened its mouth to threaten Odin, and venom spilled onto Loki’s head below.

  Loki gasped and wrenched against the entrails, but they had hardened into iron-like rigidity. The movement disturbed the enraged snake, which looked down and bared its fangs in open warning. More venom dripped, and Loki screamed.

  Sigyn scrabbled to her feet and darted toward her stricken husband, snatching up the discarded bowl as she passed. She raced to Loki’s head, pushing the bowl between the angry snake and his face. With one hand she dabbed at the spatters on his skin with her pinafore, which smoked faintly as it absorbed the venom. Loki’s arched back came to rest again on the stone, and he panted raggedly.

  “Then it seems we will leave you to your wife’s tender care,” said Odin. “Farewell, Loki. We will meet again.”

  “How long?” Loki gasped out the words. “How long will you leave me here?”

  Odin looked back at him. “Until Ragnarok.”

  Odin started walking toward the mouth of the cave, the Æsir and Vanir following. Euthalia braced her hands against the cool, damp floor—Loki must be freezing on the rock, she thought stupidly, as if that mattered beside the intestine-ropes and the venom—and pushed herself shakily to her feet. She started toward the rocks where Loki was bound. “Sigyn, what can I—”

  Sigyn looked up, and her eyes were murderous. Euthalia froze mid-step.

  “Get away,” Sigyn snarled, her teeth flashing like her new wolf-son’s. “You and your Greek tales—this is your doing.”

  Euthalia gaped. “My—no! No, I wanted none of this! I only—”

  “You gave Odin this punishment for my husband. You gave my husband the idea for the deed. All with your stories. And now my sons are dead, and my husband is tortured until the end of time, and it
is all your doing.”

  Euthalia tried to shake her head. “No. No, that’s not true.” She licked her lips. “Loki had his reasons, but he acted on his own. He wasn’t without cause, but he—”

  “Shut up!” roared Sigyn.

  Her hands moved with her fury, and the bowl slid from beneath the dripping venom. Loki cried out and arched against the rock, straining against the adamantine bindings. “Sigyn!”

  She adjusted the bowl, shielding his face once more, whispering an apology. Then she looked back at Euthalia. “You’re a monster,” she snarled.

  “Like your husband.” Loki’s words were strained and vicious. “What a pair you make, and the things you’ll breed.”

  Fresh horror seized Euthalia. “What do you mean?”

  “You have not even seen him,” Sigyn said. “Why do you suppose that is?”

  Euthalia could not answer.

  “Little sheep,” grunted Loki. “What do you think you would see, if you saw him? Really saw him?”

  Euthalia forced a breath. “My husband is kind, he’s considerate, he’s—”

  His choked, rasping laugh interrupted her. Loki’s head hung upside down against the broken stalagmite, and he laughed. “Listen to you,” he said. “You already know, or you wouldn’t rush to defend him to a grieving, tortured Jötunn.” His eyes rolled to find hers, and he grinned horribly. “You know.”

  Euthalia stared at him for an eternal moment and then whirled away. She ran for the light, ran for the others, ran to reach them before they took the Bifröst back to Asgard and left her in this horrible place.

  They were just assembling outside of the cave when she caught up to them, gasping and pushing tears from her eyes. Vidar—why aren’t you here? Vidar?

  The Bifröst was opened, and they rode the rainbow way back to Gladsheim in Asgard.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Euthalia stumbled out through the longhouse door and found herself in her own empty village. She gasped with relief and ran for her house.