Loki

by Vasich, Mike

  Until this point, Tyr had noticed that Loki sat silently near Odin, undoubtedly observing and taking in details that the rest of them might miss. Loki leaned over and whispered something to Odin, his hands subtly emphasizing his points. Tyr wondered what mischief he might be up to. Finally, he settled back into his chair, and Odin returned his attention to the mason.

  “You have two seasons to complete the wall.”

  Tyr heard a thud, the clear sound of a fist slamming down onto wood, and he saw Balder shoot to his feet, his chair scooting backwards across the stone floor.

  “Father, you cannot bargain with Freyja as if she were a piece of livestock!”

  Odin fixed him with his one eye and said nothing, but the message was lucid and unequivocal. Balder took his seat quietly, although not without a sullen look of displeasure.

  Nor did the mason look pleased.

  “I cannot rebuild the wall in so short a time. It is impossible.”

  “The wall must be completed before the first day of summer. That is the offer.”

  The mason knit his brow as he considered first Odin, then Freyja. He turned back to the Allfather. Tyr could not imagine that he would accept the offer. Six seasons was far too short a time to complete such a monumental task, but to have the wall complete by the first day of summer was impossible, and the mason knew it as well. Could his lust for Freyja be great enough to cloud his judgment so severely? He would spend two seasons reconstructing a wall for nothing. Would this mortal be so foolish?

  “I will accept the offer if I can use my horse to help me haul stone.”

  Odin looked as if he were about to say no, but Loki once again leaned over and whispered to him. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the mason. Tyr could not help but notice the smug smile crossing the Sly One’s features.

  “It will be as you say. You will rebuild the wall with no assistance save for your horse. You will have it completed by the first day of summer else you will forfeit your wages.” Odin paused for a second to note acknowledgment from the mason. “If you do this,” he paused briefly. “Freyja will be yours.”

  The mason smiled wide, and Odin rose from his chair, dismissing all the assembled gods with a nod of his gray head. He turned and strode from the hall, ancient and venerable, the high authority of his person evident with every step. There was no sound in the hall to drown out the faint report of Freyja’s golden tears striking the table.

  * * *

  Loki had been asleep when he first received the Allfather's message. One of Odin’s servants was at his door summoning him for an audience with the Allfather.

  Sigyn's side of the bed was empty, and he was alone in his bed chambers. He dressed, although not hurriedly, and girded his waist with his sword belt. He did not care for the feel of it clanking on his leg, nor did he need it, but it was part of the normal dress of an Asgardian. Appearances were important, and it was always easier to give in to expectations than fight them.

  He knew that he was viewed suspiciously. He heard the furious whisperings, often enough not even concealed, and even the complaints to Odin's own ear. He could feel their looks of contempt, their disgust for him. And why? Because he dared to contemplate a solution rather than instantly loose his blade from sheath? Because he did not live up to their vision of what an Asgardian should be?

  He shook the thought from his head. It would not do to enter a chamber of surly Asgardians with anger on his face. As always, it was his role to quietly examine the problem from all sides and offer advice to the Allfather, he who had been a father to him—in deed if not in name—for as long as he could remember. He knew that his value to Asgard lie in his wits rather than in his blade, and he fulfilled that role well, even if the other gods did not value it. Above all, despite the derision of the others, he owed a duty to Odin.

  Not that he couldn't fight if need be. He was not fool enough to think himself the equal of Thor or Tyr, but he knew how to use a blade. He had dispatched many of the Vanir himself, long before there was even talk of peace between the two. He had even faced Frey himself once, although circumstances intervened and the battle was ended before it could begin.

  Now there was peace, and it pleased him to a degree. The Vanir dog Frey, and his bitch sister Freyja, could not be trusted, of course. But it was good that they were here in Asgard, nestled amongst them rather than far away in Vanaheim plotting. Their treachery was inevitable, and he would be the first to see that they paid with their lives.

  He could see the duplicity in every action they took, in every word that eased itself from their silver tongues. They had been sent as a war bond to end the fighting, but he knew it was a ruse, that they merely lay in wait for the most opportune time to strike. And the Aesir were easy prey for this type of strategy. Both Frey and Freyja held qualities that the Aesir respected, and none but he could see beyond the surface of their actions to the guile beneath.

  He would bide his time. This was his greatest skill, to choose the perfect moment to act. He would wait till the moment was right to expose them. The Aesir could no longer speak his name with derision once he proved the two Vanir twins false for all to see. Their skill and beauty would be meaningless. Betrayal was ever the Aesir's most hated crime, and the penalty—the blood eagle—was horrid indeed.

  Loki was last to arrive at Gladsheim, and he took the looks of contempt he received with grace and nods to the assembled Aesir who loathed him. A large man, powerfully built and plainly dressed, was led in. Loki could see the man was not as he appeared to be, but he could see no more than that. His mind began to concoct possibilities and motives, reasons for why this strange, weather-beaten visitor stood amongst the gods.

  As the visitor addressed them Loki gauged his actions, his speech, his manner of delivery. He was rough and plain, but this was no ordinary mason. There was a shifting as he spoke, like a second skin that clung to him that was visible only for brief moments, and only to one with the skill of seeing. He glanced over at Frey and Freyja, and was amused that neither had detected it.

  The mason faced their anger when he named his price, yet stood his ground. Loki detected a slight smile on his face, the sense of satisfaction from infuriating a foe, from using words to drive an opponent to physical anguish. Loki had done this on many occasions, and he felt a sudden, odd kinship with this bold mortal who requested so much of those with so little sense of humor. He leaned in and whispered to the Allfather.

  It was not necessary to tell him all of his suspicions. Odin was the only Aesir that Loki held to be his equal in powers of the mind. Surely he saw all—or nearly all—that Loki had observed. It was Loki's role only to point out the advantages to be gained in the situation, to explain how the mason's lust for Freyja could be turned to their advantage. Let her be thrown into the bargain—there was little chance that the mason could succeed. While there was something unseen about him, Loki could foresee no way that this could assist him in the monumental task he had accepted. He would fail, and yet Asgard's wall would be partially rebuilt for nothing but the mason's sweat and tears.

  And if by some obscene chance he should complete his task, all the better. The Aesir would have a fully rebuilt wall and would get rid of Freyja in one stroke. The Aesir would never go back on their bargain, of course, but maybe they could be rid of Frey as well, for he would not concede to his sister's bondage so easily. Perhaps he would raise arms against the mason, and the Aesir would be forced to slay Frey, lest he violate the bargain, a principle they would die or kill for.

  The mason did not care for the conditions imposed on him, but his lust for Freyja was like a foul stench poisoning the air around him. Loki knew this would be his undoing. His counter—to be able to use his horse—was laughable. Certainly, Loki thought, use your horse. We would not want you to drop dead from your efforts before the task was halfway done. Odin was reluctant, but Loki's words assured him. He struck the bargain, and the Aesir fell silent, recognizing his authority if still not agreeing with his decision.
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  As the mason left to begin the impossible task he had accepted, Odin turned to Loki. “If the mason succeeds—“

  “He will not, Allfather. It is an impossible task.”

  “That was true till you allowed him use of his horse.”

  “It will end better for us, my lord. He will get further in the rebuilding. But horse or no, he will not finish. Freyja is safe.”

  Odin leaned in close and fixed him with his stare. “If the wall is completed, you will learn why I am called the Terrible One.”

  Loki felt his insides tighten as he stared into Odin's eye, but he knew that he would be proven correct. And didn't Odin know the outcome as well? If he truly feared losing the bargain he would never have made it in the first place. He was reassured by Odin's knowledge of the future. The High One would not allow him to enter into a bargain where he would truly be at risk. The threat was for show, to remind all assembled that he was also the Terrible One.

  The mason would fail, the wall would be nearly completed, and he would have served the Allfather once more. Odin's false threat to him would even work to his advantage. If the High One would admit to a council of the gods that Loki's advice had proven correct, no others would be able to spurn him openly. Even his naysayers would not be able to claim that he caused only mischief in Asgard.

  Chapter Three

  Balder and Tyr pulled their horses up short in the tall grass of the fields outside Asgard. They were higher up than the city, and could see the expanse of high towers and vast halls stretching out to the horizon on either side. Once unblemished and shining, the war had damaged many of the structures. Most were repaired, but the work continued. Even for the gods, rebuilding the destruction took time.

  The wall surrounding Asgard had been the most heavily damaged structure. It was nearly decimated during the fighting, and had been reduced to rubble in many places. In others, lonely sections were left to stand at a fraction of the wall's previous height. From their vantage point the wall had once looked like a gaping maw of missing and broken teeth.

  But now it was nearly summer, and they looked down upon a wall that was, astonishingly, almost completed. Where holes and rubble had once been, there was block upon block of stone towering up to a dizzying height. The gap in the enclosure, once so vast as to leave the entirety of Asgard unprotected, was now reduced to mere leagues. This distance seemed paltry when compared to what the mason had accomplished so far. Neither Balder nor Tyr doubted that he would finish by the first day of summer.

  They could see him working from where they sat. He was barely a speck at this distance, but the wake of his progress was unmistakable. A cloud of dust rose up from where he chiseled and placed stone blocks, fitting them in perfect balance with those he had already placed. While any chipping and cutting of stone would cause dust to fly out, the mason worked so quickly and with such furious intensity that he created a whirlwind of dust, making it appear as if smoke was billowing out from an intense fire that could not be seen.

  When he hauled stone from the quarry and unloaded it at the base of the wall, his movements were so rapid that he looked like an army of ants constructing their nest. Balder and Tyr marveled and wondered at his strength and endurance. He lifted stone blocks that would have given some of the gods a struggle. And he did not stop working. When they laid their heads down for the night, the mason continued to work. When they rose the next morning, he was still hauling or chiseling stone. None of the gods had seen him rest or even pause to eat.

  But even at his unbelievable pace, he would not have come this far without the assistance of his horse. Each time they returned from the quarry, the animal—no bigger than any draft horse—hauled scores of enormous blocks in a wide net that trailed behind him for hundreds of feet. The load was so heavy that its rumbling could be heard for leagues, and it left a channel in the wake of its passing.

  “The first day of summer draws near,” Tyr said.

  “And we draw closer to losing Freyja,” Balder replied, clenching his fists. He turned to face Tyr. “No mortal could accomplish what this one has. There is sorcery here.” He did not mention that his nightmares had increased in intensity since the mason's arrival.

  “Undoubtedly. His strength rivals Thor's.”

  “Then we should renounce the bargain. It was struck in bad faith. That ought to justify breaking it.”

  Tyr shook his head. “You know that cannot be done. We cannot simply change the terms of an agreement because we do not like the result. You know well enough what it means to be Aesir,” Tyr added, “And we cannot forget that even if we lose Freyja, we gain something from this bargain.”

  Balder was not mollified. “I do not care about the wall. How can a thing made of stacked bricks compare to one of the gods? What we lose is far greater than what we gain.”

  “You say that now, but what if the giants marched on us? I do not take the unhappy loss of Freyja lightly, but that wall may be the thing that prevents the destruction of Asgard. It may be callous to say so, but Freyja's sacrifice here may prevent the death of all.”

  Balder looked at him sourly. “Is that the cost of our security? Trade one of us so the rest can feel safe? That is a cowardly bargain.”

  Tyr was not surprised to hear Balder speak like this. His temper often got the better of him. Still, he would not allow Balder to speak of the High One in such a way without redress. “You do a disservice to your father. You know little of his sacrifices or his burdens. He bears the fate of the Nine Worlds on his shoulders, while you think only of one solitary goddess. While we value and honor her, would we sacrifice the whole of creation for her?”

  Balder looked away, frustrated. “You seek to make it more complicated than it is. Do you really think the fate of all rests on this one ill-conceived bargain?”

  “How can we know? It is not our lot to question the judgment of the High One. He knows things we can only guess at.”

  Balder was not satisfied. “Bah, that is an explanation meant to keep us quiet. If my father truly knows all, then why does he not share his knowledge with us? Does he think us children who cannot bear to hear sour news?”

  Tyr shifted on his horse, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “We do not yet know what the outcome of this bargain will be. It is possible that the wall will not be finished, and that Freyja will not be lost.”

  “He will finish. Look at him. He is a whirlwind. How can he work so furiously without rest? There is sorcery here.”

  Tyr nodded slowly. “You may be right. But the bargain was made; that is all that matters.”

  “And what of the sorcery? Does it not matter that this creature deceived us?”

  “Not if it cannot be proven.”

  Tyr sighed and glanced over to the wall. He did not like the bargain, either, but it was made and none could change that. He doubted that the mason would be satisfied with some other reward. What could compare to Freyja?

  Balder scowled. “Loki is to blame for this. He convinced my father to enter this bargain. You saw him, Tyr. Odin was prepared to reject the deal before Loki whispered honeyed words into his ear. Nothing good ever comes from his schemes. My father ought to know that by now.”

  “You know that is not true. There have been times when the Sly One's schemes have helped Asgard.”

  Balder looked disgusted. “He spoils all he touches.”

  “Was it not Loki who found Mjolnir when it had been stolen by the giant, Thrym? If not for him, Thor would not have regained the hammer.”

  “Mjolnir would have been discovered soon enough even without Loki's help. That giant was a fool. He could not even tell that his bride was a thundering, red-bearded brute.”

  Tyr did not argue the point. He knew that Balder's anger at the bargain prevented him from seeing clearly.

  Balder said, “I will not just sit here and allow Freyja to be lost.”

  “There is nothing to do but sit and wait, and hope that the mason does not complete the rebuilding. You
know that we cannot interfere with him.” Tyr wondered if Balder planned to attack the mason or stop him somehow. Such an act would only bring dishonor to the Aesir, and Balder could find himself facing the blood eagle, his lungs sprouting from his back like wings. Tyr doubted, however, that Balder could survive an attack on the mason, and he wondered what might happen as a result.

  “I can read your thoughts, Tyr. I will not do anything foolish. I will merely seek out the counsel of he who is never without a plan. Maybe his conniving will be able to undo what he has done.”

  “Do not do anything rash, Balder. I would not want to see you punished for interfering with your father's plans. His wrath can be terrible.”

  “I only wish to find a solution to this problem. I am sure the Sly One will be able to discover a way to save Freyja.”

  Balder spurred his horse and rode back towards Asgard.

  Tyr watched him go, his brows creased with worry. Balder would never approach Loki. He could not even stand to be in the same room with him. Would he swallow his distaste and appeal to Loki for this one thing? Would he threaten him? And even if he did, could Loki's counsel be trusted? It was true that his schemes sometimes saved the day, but it was just as true that his mischief rankled many of the Aesir.

  He watched the mason continue to rebuild till he ran out of blocks. He and his horse headed back to the quarry, traveling faster than could be believed. They would return soon enough with more stone to add to the wall. He did not think its completion could be halted. He hoped that Balder would find a way, despite his own misgivings.

  * * *

  There was little use in denying that the mason would probably complete the rebuilding of the wall, but it galled Loki nonetheless. He cursed himself for ignoring the sheen of sorcery he had seen on the mason at the council at Gladsheim. It was certainly more palatable to blame sorcery than to accept that he may have been fooled.