by Annie Bellet
As she tries to shake the paralysis from her limbs, another voice rises. “Oh, Odin, wouldn’t you prefer to dance with me?”
One of the Einherjar snickers and tries to cover it up with a cough. Looking over her shoulder, Sigyn doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Loki is a master of illusion and he’s given his ginger hair an elaborate updo in the local style. His face is painted white and his lips are red. His dress is bright and clean and stretches to his feet, his knapsack gone. He is no longer wearing a sword; instead he’s fluttering a fan. “I’m so much prettier.”
Another Einherjar snorts. Loki minces forward, the very picture of a demure lady except for his leer.
Odin stretches out a hand as he’d done to Sigyn. “Stop, Loki.”
Loki does stop, mid-stride, as though frozen in place. Sigyn’s heart sinks. But then Loki flicks his fan and giggles.
Odin rolls back on his feet. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Is it Sigyn’s imagination, or did his voice waver?
Closing the fan with a flourish, Loki says, “Oh, but it does. You’re hurting my family.”
Sigyn’s breath catches and Odin thumps his spear. “I would not—”
“You are hurting Sigyn!” screams Loki, with such force his skin appears to turn blue.
Loki is confronting Odin? She scrambles to her feet; no one stops her. She should steal back her sword, but she cannot turn away from Loki. The white paint is gone; he is turning blue. Color like a stormy sea is spreading across his face. When it reaches his crown, it turns his ginger hair black from root to tip, making it look like it is being burned away. Stretching his arms to the heavens, Loki draws a circle with his fingers, leaving a halo of blue fire in the air. Somewhere, a structure falls with a resounding crash, and the ground trembles. When he grins, Loki’s teeth are very white against his dark blue skin. “And now I want to dance!”
“Sigyn,” Odin whispers, “go about your business here.”
Sigyn’s gaze slides to the All Father. Odin’s single eye is wide and focused on Loki. There is a sheen of sweat on the king’s brow, and his lower lip is trembling. “Please …”
Sigyn can’t move. She has never seen, nor heard of Odin, the All Father, afraid of anything; but now he is afraid of his fool.
“Yes, go on, Sigyn,” Loki hisses. His body is undulating like he’s a snake about to strike.
The voices in Sigyn’s head go silent. The burn beneath her skin vanishes. She knows her purpose here is finished. Instead of going home, she wraps her magic protectively around her, sprints past Loki, Odin, and his servants, and becomes another random particle adrift in Hiroshima.
CHAPTER TWO
Sigyn sits in the kitchen of Asgard’s gardener, Hoenir, a cup of coffee in her hand. A party for her homecoming is in full swing. It’s been nearly a year since Loki confronted Odin, and only a few hours since she returned to Asgard. She still isn’t precisely sure why she was called to Hiroshima. She had done nothing; she’d been nothing but a witness to the showdown between Loki and Odin.
After the confrontation, her call had been concluded, but she’d gone to the city outskirts and pretended to be a German missionary. She’d volunteered at a hospital helping treat the fission bomb’s victims. She’s not sure why she did it. Was it just because it felt like what she should have been called to do? Or was she just curious about what the splitting of atoms, and a new age on Earth would mean for humans … and what it might mean for so-called Gods? She hadn’t come home until Odin sent her sons Nari and Valli to fetch her.
Hisbernia, daughter of the elf who supplies Asgard with the apples of immortality, sits down beside her. “Has the United States enslaved the Japanese like they did the Africans?”
Hisbernia is of Nari’s and Valli’s generation. She is one of the few of that age who does more than live on the dole. She helps her mother grow Asgard’s magic apples, and she is completely unheralded for her efforts. Hisbernia and Nari were together for a while, but nothing came of it. Sigyn isn’t sure if it was because Nari is a coward, or just the general inertia that has fallen over all of Asgard.
“No,” she responds, “but the Americans are forcing the Japanese to rewrite their constitution.” Sigyn hadn’t traveled more than a few blocks from the hospital, but she’d learned much through the magic of radio.
Her eyes skim the crowd as they murmur in disbelief. After Earth, their youthful good looks are a shock—there are no blemishes to their skin, no acne, no pox scars. But some of the gathered group are older than Sigyn. Her eyes slide to Vee. He’d fought beside Odin when Odin had been the greatest campaigner for what English speakers would call “human rights.” The concept doesn’t exist in the Asgardian language. She shakes her head. Once Odin had protected even the vanquished. Not any longer.
Nari settles into the chair next to Sigyn. Sigyn’s magic isn’t specific, but Nari does have a particular talent. He has a type of glamour that appeals to the aspirations of the group. Loki always said that if Nari had been a god, he would have been the God of Democracy. When Nari speaks, his magic swells in the room and he appears even more golden, even more perfect. “If the Americans have their way, Japan will be more liberal than it was before the war!”
“No …” someone whispers.
“It is true,” Nari says, and the group becomes hushed, reverent, and wishful.
Sipping her drink, Sigyn frowns. Even the previous Japanese Constitution had given the Japanese more rights than the Asgardians have. A bitter taste comes to her mouth, and it isn’t from her coffee.
“Stop talking about that nonsense, Brother!” Valli declares. Valli is a little leaner than his brother, and has a bit more ginger in his hair. He’s half the reason Sigyn is good with treating burns—he and Loki are always setting things on fire accidentally. Clapping his brother on the back, Valli smiles wolfishly, opens a bag, and pulls an AK-47 machine gun to his chest. “Let’s talk about guns!”
Sigyn’s eyes go wide. “What GI did you talk that off of?”
Instead of answering, Valli pulls the trigger. The gun fires repeatedly and thatch falls from the ceiling. Instead of looking ashamed, Valli smirks. Thunderous applause erupts around the room, and for a moment Sigyn is caught up in Valli’s particular glamour. If Valli were declared a god, he would be the God of Armed Rebellion. Valli fires a few more volleys and Mimir’s shout erupts over the roar of the guests. “Enough!”
Sigyn blinks away the haze of Valli’s magic, and says, “Stop it, Valli!”
Giving her a sheepish look, Valli lowers his weapon.
She can’t see Mimir’s head for the crowd, but she hears him say, “Come this way if you want to fire that thing. Hoenir has a door to the Dark Lands of Alfheim in the living room!”
The crowd surges away. Sigyn almost follows, but one of Hoenir’s creations, a mouse with eight glossy black legs, crawls out from the fallen straw. Most of Asgard is terrified of Hoenir’s venomous little spidermice, but Sigyn knows she is in no danger if she is courteous. “Sorry, Mr. Mouse,” Sigyn says, holding out a finger. “Are you hurt?” In answer, the spidermouse springs back into the thatch.
“I apologize for your roof,” says Sigyn when Hoenir returns a moment later. He is carrying the head of Mimir, his constant companion, in a lantern casing.
Hoenir waves a hand, and Mimir says, “Pshaw, it’s nothing.” Hoenir sets Mimir’s head on the table and goes off to the pot of coffee on the stove. “But if you don’t mind,” says Mimir, “Hoenir would like to join you for a cup of coffee.”
Sigyn’s long since gotten over any ambivalence she had about talking to a severed head. Smiling down at Mimir, she says, “Of course I don’t mind.” She raises her gaze to Hoenir. He has his back to her and is pouring some coffee in a mug. Hoenir looks deceptively humble. As usual, he’s wearing the rough garb of a gardener. His head is balding—something that doesn’t happen to Asgardians—and he’s a bit pudgy. He is also mute, which is why Mimir does all the talking. Her lips purse. Ho
enir is a master of biology; he could doubtlessly cure his muteness, shrink his belly, and regrow his hair. She thinks it may all be a clever ruse to disguise his true nature. She’s just not sure what that true nature is … but magic buzzes around him and his hut like the neutrons, protons, and electrons had buzzed in Hiroshima. Sometimes she feels he is as powerful in his own way as Odin. Her brows draw together ... or as powerful as Loki.
Hoenir settles at the table, mug in hand, and Mimir lifts his eyes to the roof and says, “Sometimes I think those boys of yours are Loki cleaved in two. Nari has his cleverness and Valli has all his impulsiveness.”
Sigyn raises an eyebrow.
Hoenir nudges Mimir with an elbow. “What?” Mimir asks.
Hoenir scowls at the head. Clearing his throat, Mimir adds, “Oh, yes, of course. And they are like you—Nari has your tenacity and Valli has your bravery.”
Sigyn lifts her cup to Hoenir. “Thank you.” He nods, and Sigyn adds, “For everything.” If it weren’t for Hoenir’s magic hut, there would be no place for Asgard’s tiny democracy movement to meet. It’s one of the few places in the Nine Realms Odin’s spies cannot see.
They settle into companionable silence and Sigyn finds herself thinking of Hiroshima. The devastation still haunts her and is beginning to haunt humanity. Discussions of the morality of the bombs are beginning to simmer, despite the American’s attempts to stifle them. Some argue the bombs saved lives by ending the war quickly. Sigyn is not sure that is true—but it definitely saved American lives. Odin had called it treacherous and cowardly, but she’s seen what he’s allowed to have done to his enemies.
Her mind replays Odin’s words. “Victory Woman.” The last person to say those words together about her was Queen Frigga. What had Frigga said? “You could distract Baldur from that dreadful Anganboða if you just applied yourself, Sigyn. Where is your thirst for victory, woman?”
She swirls the coffee in her mug. The words were the same, the meanings different. It probably means nothing … Odin’s fear of Loki … that is definite. She’d thought she’d return to find that Loki had left Asgard, no longer content to play the fool. But he is still here, still the laughingstock. Her brow furrows. He hadn’t gone to prison for his action, though, and that is odd. Nor has there been gossip about the confrontation. Odin must have sworn the Einherjar to secrecy. She feels a flutter in her chest. Maybe Loki is just playing the loyal retainer? Maybe he has changed? She blinks. He had changed, literally, he’d turned blue. Helen, Aggie and Loki’s child, and Sigyn’s adoptive daughter, had been half-blue. Sometimes, around Helen, Loki’s skin would turn blue and so would Hoenir’s. Sigyn thought it was just Helen’s magic “catching.” She gazes into her coffee. Helen’s magic was the magic of Truth ...
A knock sounds at the door. Before anyone can move, it creaks open. Hoenir’s eyes meet Mimir’s and Sigyn doesn’t need to look to know who has arrived. Mimir clears his throat. “I think we’ll just be going to check on your boys now.”
Sigyn doesn’t turn around as Hoenir picks up Mimir and scurries from the room. She listens to the creak of floorboards behind her and feels her heart rate increase and her skin warm.
“Sigyn,” Loki says, slipping into the seat Nari had previously occupied.
She tells herself this is just like any other meeting between them, that she should not be nervous, excited, or hopeful, but she feels like she is teetering on a tightrope.
Keeping her voice level, she says, “Loki.” But as she turns to face him, she can’t contain a gasp of surprise. He’s back to being ginger-haired, grey-eyed, and pale-skinned. More surprising, he’s clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed and only slightly ruffled. More impressive … “You haven’t been drinking.” At least for the past day, his skin isn’t leaching alcohol.
Loki’s eyes slide to the window, where the sun is still well above the horizon. “It’s barely afternoon … I thought you didn’t approve of it before the third hour from sundown.”
Sigyn can’t remember the last time she saw Loki sober. Was it the last time they’d slept together?
“Sigyn?” Loki says, a bemused smile stretching his lips.
Shaking away her surprise, she says, “What brings you here?”
“I think you know,” he says, and her breath catches. Taking her hand, he kisses her knuckles. His slightly chapped lips and stubble scrape against her skin. Her eyes drift closed.
“I’m here for you, Sigyn,” Loki whispers.
She remembers him, standing up to Odin, his skin turning blue in a halo of fire. He’d called her family and defied the most powerful man in the Nine Realms in her name.
“I know,” she answers, opening her eyes.
Cradling her hand, he searches her face. “I want you back, Sigyn. I’m better with you. Without you I couldn’t have killed Baldur. You kept me alive in the cave, helped me raise Helen, have given me two beautiful sons, humored my studies of magic, saved me in the Dark Lands, and have kept me sober for the past year …”
She blinks.
He shrugs. “If you got in trouble on Earth, I needed to be ready to slip down and come to your rescue.”
Jaw tightening, she starts to pull away. Catching her hand, Loki’s eyes narrow. “You worried about me for two hundred years, don’t deny me my worry.” She softens, and Loki winces dramatically. “Besides, without you here I had to keep an eye on Nari and Valli …Valli could get in trouble in a cabbage patch.”
Sigyn laughs, remembering Valli just blowing a hole in Hoenir’s thatch.
Stroking her hand, he gives her a sad smile. “There’s never been anyone else but you, Sigyn, in all this time …”
Sigyn cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he pulls her hand to his stomach. She can feel the heat of him through his tunic. “None whose names I remember, anyway,” he whispers.
Her gaze has slipped to their entwined fingers; the sight is so familiar, her fingers gold against his pale skin. She nods, understanding. She’s had lovers too, but none have mattered. She lifts her eyes and finds she’s turned toward him and is leaning forward in her chair, and so is he. One of her knees has drifted between his. She reaches up and touches his cheek and feels the bite of stubble and his magic flickering beneath her fingers. She closes her eyes and imagines the flame of his magic wrapping around her. Heat pools under her skin and in her belly and time seems to stretch. And then she feels his nose brush against hers and smiles. Only Loki can make the brush of noses an elegant dance. He pulls away slightly, and his lips touch hers too lightly—and it’s still enough to send a bolt of heat to her core. Their lips meet again, firmer, more breathless, and she can taste a hint of honey on his tongue. His hand finds her hip and pulls her forward. Their chests almost touch and the air between them becomes so hot there may actually be flames. What they have, it still works.
“Sigyn,” he groans. And she thinks they may not make it out of this room before their fire is quenched.
“You confronted Odin for me,” she whispers against his lips, giving in and letting him draw her up onto his lap. His body is ready beneath her, and she gasps. She thinks they might self- combust.
Pulling away, he looks at her through hooded eyes. “What?”
“Hiroshima,” she whispers.
Looking bemused, stroking her hips, he whispers, “What are you talking about?”
“You confronted Odin,” she says again, drawing back, feeling like a candle caught in a breeze.
Loki shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Odin found me passed out drunk … ” The bemusement vanishes. He strokes her thighs again, but the motion is like he’s trying to draw comfort, not like he’s trying to create heat. “If you’d seen what I saw there, you’d have gotten drunk, too.”
“I was there, Loki,” Sigyn says.
He blinks at her. “Oh … I suppose … Odin said something about you being called at first.”
“You remember nothing?”
Loki shakes his head.
/> Her heart sinks; he had been passed out drunk. “Odin tried to drag me back to Asgard … ” She pulls herself off his lap, the whole story pouring out of her. When she is done, Loki shakes his head again. “I know you don’t think you’re lying.”
She huffs. One of Loki’s many magical abilities is his ability to detect deliberate lies, but unlike Helen, he can’t know or reveal the truth.
“But you mistook what you saw,” Loki said. “Odin was distraught about the events in Hiroshima ...”
“We all were!” Sigyn cries.
“Which is why you misinterpreted what happened.”
“And when he pulled me away?” Sigyn demands.
Loki scowls. “Even I admit Odin can be a stubborn ass. I made a jest that pointed out the error in his ways with a laugh so he could let it slide.”
“You threatened him and he was terrified!” Sigyn says.
Loki looks out the kitchen window, as though he is afraid Odin’s raven spies are flying by. “I would never threaten the All Father.” He growls. “Not directly. No matter how wrong his ways may be, I would not jeopardize our lives here.”
“If nothing is worth dying for, nothing is worth living for!” Sigyn’s said those words many times before.
As usual Loki rolls his eyes. “I don’t see you leaving Asgard.”
Sigyn swallows. She hasn’t left Asgard because she, Nari, and Valli are spies for the democracy movements of the Dark Elves and the Mercantile Dwarves. In Asgard, Sigyn and her sons can only talk for the moment, but abroad they have saved countless lives, and saved women and children from being tortured and sold into slavery. She can’t tell Loki any of that. He wouldn’t betray her outright, but the man does get drunk, and when he drinks, he talks.
She tries one more time. Clutching his hand, she says, “You are stronger than you know … and I know what I saw. Odin was afraid of you.”
His lips flatten. “You’re delusional.”
Sigyn pulls her hand away. Sighing, he says, “Come, Sigyn, we’ve had disagreements before.”