Loki

by Vasich, Mike

  But why had Odin allowed the bargain to be struck if he knew that the mason would complete the rebuilding? The High One's threat was foremost on his mind, and he considered the punishment he might receive if the wall was completed. Death? Exile? But why would Odin allow him to endanger himself if he knew the outcome? Perhaps that meant that something would prevent the mason from completing the task.

  He could think of little that could be done, however. Anything that blatantly interfered with the mason would be viewed as breaking the bargain. He was stuck with merely hoping that the mason would not finish, as unlikely as that might be.

  He had observed the mason at work, convinced that the sorcery that hid his true nature was at fault. He did not work as one, but as many. His speed, his strength—they were not those of mortals, or even gods. None of the Aesir could have accomplished what the mason had so far, and that was disturbing. He could not conceive of a being who wielded such abilities. Even the giants, though they were strong beyond belief, did not have the powers of this mortal.

  He had wandered out onto the paths of Asgard to observe the mason's handiwork. He was leery of getting too close, unsure of the creature's true nature. He saw him working from afar, hauling with ease stone blocks that would have given Thor difficulty. No one could have predicted that the mason would be able to do these things. This would surely be taken into account if the wall was finished.

  For now, he would observe him and consider ways to stop the construction. If he continued at his current speed there were still several weeks left before the wall was finished. That was time enough, Loki thought, to devise a way to stop him.

  As he moved around a corner, coming closer to where the mason toiled, there was a sharp blow to the back of his head. He stumbled to the ground, still conscious, but only barely. He was grabbed and roughly dragged before being dumped to the ground.

  He lay with his face in the dirt, struggling to overcome waves of nausea. He got to his hands and knees and was rewarded with a kick to the stomach. He vomited, but managed to keep his position. His head and vision clearing, he anticipated another blow but it did not fall. He looked up to see his attacker.

  There was a semi-circle of men surrounding him, a score or so of them, and a high wall to his back. The men wore battle-scarred armor and held pitted weapons that still looked solid enough to cleave flesh. The men themselves were just as damaged. Some were missing hands or even arms, one stood on one leg, propping himself up with a rough wooden crutch. Several lacked eyes or ears, or both. All had numerous visible scars, and more that were not visible. Their armor had plates missing, gouges and cuts where countless blades had stabbed, thrust, and slashed.

  All in Asgard knew these men. These were Odin's army of dead warriors, the Einherjar. They fought on the fields of Asgard each day, feasted and drank themselves to a stupor each night, only to rise—both the dead and the living—to repeat the cycle the next day.

  But though they rose to fight again, they did not emerge unscathed. Those that lost limbs did not have them magically regrown. Those with eyes stabbed out did not find their vision returning. In fact, some of the most badly injured Einherjar were barely human, but they dragged themselves onto the field of battle to fight in whatever way they could. Those that survived intact time and time again were fearsome fighters, but their numbers were few. All of these warriors would be needed at Ragnarok, or so the legend went.

  Loki was less concerned with a legendary future than he was with the immediate threat they posed. Thor or Tyr might relish this situation—a score of fighters against one lone adversary—but he did not fool himself that he was their equal. While he was skilled with a blade, he was no match for all at once, at least not after being waylaid.

  He rose slowly, wary of another kick. As he glanced over their gruesome faces he saw nothing that made him think that these warriors had once been living men. Their stares were dull and lifeless, their motions mechanical. There was no spark of life within any of them, and Loki could feel the dull bloodlust they exuded, like a foul stench. These were not men; they were ghouls.

  “You strike a prince of Asgard,” he said. There was no change in their expressionless faces. “The Allfather will not like this. You risk his wrath.”

  A large, bald one stepped forward. He was missing an eye, and there were scars above and below where the eye had been, as if a large blade had stabbed him there. His ear and part of his head were missing on the right side as well. The rest of him, though severely scarred, was intact, and he gripped an axe in one hand.

  “He cannot finish the wall,” the warrior said. His speech was halting and rough, as if he had not spoken in years. Loki considered that it was possibly true. This warrior could have been in Asgard for many mortal lifetimes, and there would be scant need for him to say anything. The other ghouls simply stared, and looked as if they were eager to hack and slash at any target.

  The Einherjar had never attacked any of the Aesir before, nor did they look as though they had concocted this—or any idea—on their own. Someone had told them to do this. He suspected it was Frey, likely angry that his twin sister was the payment for the wall.

  “I agree,” he said. He would befuddle these warriors while he regained his bearing, discover who had sent them, and then kill them all. “We must stop the mason from finishing the wall. But we cannot do it here, fighting amongst ourselves. I must find your master so that we can craft a plan. Where is he now?”

  The bald warrior did not respond, but had an air of confusion, as if he was not sure what he should say. “He told us . . .” He paused, searching for a response. “He cannot finish the wall. We will kill you if he finishes the wall.”

  Loki felt increased threat. He was not entirely sure they would not kill him now, before he could figure out who sent them. “The mason is the threat. We must help each other. Nothing can be done while we stand here trading words. Your master, is he in his hall? I must find him quickly. There is little time to waste. Where is he?”

  The bald warrior looked at the other Einherjar. He signaled to some nearer to Loki and they grabbed his arms, one on either side. He stepped forward, bringing his face close. His breath was hot and fetid.

  Loki opened his mouth to further persuade the warrior, but was hit in the stomach with the haft of the axe. He doubled over, but was kept on his feet by the two holding him up.

  “You will stop the wall or we will kill you.”

  He could see that words were not going to work. “Yes,” he sputtered. “I will go to stop him now.”

  He felt the two holding him relax the slightest bit, and then sent his foot into the groin of the bald one in front of him, who doubled over at his feet. He took advantage of the surprise and wrenched one arm free. His hand found his sword hilt and he pulled it loose quickly. Before anyone else could act he continued the motion and swept it in a wide arc, beheading the one who had been holding him.

  The other instinctively pulled on Loki’s still trapped arm, but that was his last mistake. Loki brought the sword back and ran him through. Even with a sword sticking out his other side he clutched Loki tighter, and the momentum of the blow carried them both to the ground. Loki wrenched his arm free, but the sword was stuck in the body of the warrior.

  The other Einherjar advanced on him, but they did so haltingly, as if their bodies were worn out. He scrambled to his feet and pulled out a knife. As they drew closer, he slashed one across the throat and stabbed another in the chest. Both fell, but the rest were upon him, unrelenting. He was pulled to the ground and pummeled, finally disappearing under a mass of twisted and scarred bodies.

  The Valkyries and the Einherjar

  Odin looked into the mists of time and saw that the giants would come at Ragnarok. He despaired of the end, but would not sit idly by and wait for doom. He counted all the hosts of the Aesir, and while they were many, he was not satisfied they would be enough to stave off the giants. He called his ghostly Valkyries, and the beautiful warrior-maidens flock
ed around him in response, mounted on their steeds and eager to do the High One's bidding. Among their legions he called forth his favorites: Mist and Might, Screaming and Shrieking, Raging, Axe Time, Warrior, and also Spear Bearer, Host Fetter, and Kin of the Gods. He charged them with the task of increasing the armies of Asgard.

  “You will fly down to the land of mortal men whenever there is battle or bloodshed,” he told them. From among those that have fallen, you shall choose the bravest and strongest. You will bring these warriors to Valhalla, my Hall of the Slain. Once there, you will serve them wine and mead.

  “They will fight on the fields of Asgard each day, and feast in the halls of Valhalla each night. Those that die will be reborn to fight again the next day. These men will be known as the Einherjar, and they will fight and die and be reborn each day until the time of Ragnarok.

  “When the giants march on Asgard, the Einherjar will stand with the Aesir and their allies. These brave warriors will serve the gods in death as they did in life.”

  The Valkyries flew out from Odin's hall on spectral steeds and sought out those who would become Einherjar. They were known as the Choosers of the Slain, and all mortal men desired to see them, for what greater honor could there be than to be brought to Valhalla to serve the High One?

  Chapter Four

  The thud of fist on oak reverberated throughout the hall, startling Sigyn with its insistence and urgency. She dispatched servants to answer it, and then decided to see for herself as well.

  As the doors opened wide, two figures were silhouetted by the sunlight streaming into the dark hall. They were tall and thin, but the light reflecting off the metal armor and weapons dispelled any impression of weakness. She recognized them as two of the Valkyries, Axe Time and Spear Bearer, although she did not know them other than by name.

  Her attention was quickly drawn to the burden that one of them carried. What initially looked like a large sack in the darkness of the corridor took shape more clearly as the doors were shut and her eyes readjusted to the dimness of the hall.

  A body was thrown over the shoulder of one of the warrior maidens. A sliver of alarm became full horror as she realized who they carried. She rushed forward.

  “Does he live?” she asked, panic causing her breath to come in ragged gasps. Without waiting for an answer, she ushered them to a bedchamber. “Here! Put him here!”

  Axe Time laid Loki's still body onto the bed somewhat roughly. “He lives,” she said. “But he has been beaten severely.”

  Sigyn issued orders to the nearby servants, and they rushed off into the bowels of the hall to fetch what she needed. She bent over Loki's unconscious form. Using the sleeve of her gown she carefully wiped blood from his face. “How did this happen?” she asked, emotion threatening to overwhelm her voice.

  Both Valkyries looked down on the pair impassively, no emotion registering on their faces. “We found him thus,” Axe Time said. “He was near the wall, lying on the ground. His attackers were gone when we arrived.”

  Spear Bearer added, “There were many of them. The signs of the fight were clear.”

  Sigyn looked up at them, a range of emotions across her face. “What do you mean? What signs?”

  “The signs of the fight,” Spear Bearer replied, as if it were common sense. “They first struck him from behind. He fell, and they dragged him to where they would not be seen assaulting him. They surrounded him and then fell upon him, all attacking as one.”

  “How could this happen in Asgard? Are there enemies among us that we are unaware of?”

  Axe Time shook her head. “No, mistress.”

  “Then who has done this?”

  “They did not mean to kill him,” Spear Bearer said.

  Sigyn paused in her ministrations. Loki did not stir. “What do you mean? Look at him! How could this not be an attempt to kill him?” She felt anger rising up, but she forced it down. She did not want to take out her grief on the ones who had picked her husband up out of the dust.

  “They used no weapons. He was beat with bare fists. And he spilled blood on them. He may have killed some, but they took their wounded or dead with them.” Spear Bearer produced Loki’s sword and knife, still covered in the blood of his attackers, and set them down for Sigyn to examine.

  Servants rushed into the room and began cleaning Loki's wounds, applying healing ointments and bandages. As they wiped the blood away, they dipped their cloths into bowls of warm water which quickly turned pink.

  Sigyn stood up but stayed near, one hand on Loki. She picked up his knife and examined it. “Whose blood is this?”

  “Einherjar,” Spear Bearer said.

  “What? That cannot be.”

  The two Valkyries simply stared at her.

  “How do you know?”

  Axe Time said, “We have pulled them from their battlefield deaths for countless ages. We know these warriors like we know no other. We are tied to them.”

  Spear Bearer added, “There are no others who could have done this. You know as well as we that it could not be Aesir. None of the gods would attack another on Asgard's holy ground. And there are no other in Asgard who could do this to a god except Aesir, Einherjar, and Valkyrie.”

  “How do you know it wasn't one of your own then?”

  If the two Valkyries were offended, they showed no sign of it.

  “We live to serve the High One,” they said simply, as if that quelled all question.

  Sigyn looked back down at her husband. Under the servants' care he began to look better. She could see his bruises slowly fading, his immortal's healing ability already knitting his body together. It would not be long till he was fully recovered.

  “Why would the Einherjar attack my husband? They have never done such a thing before.”

  Spear Bearer looked down at Loki. There was neither love nor hate in her eyes. “It is strange, but we cannot say why they would do such a thing. You should seek answers from the High One.” Axe Time nodded in agreement.

  “It does not make sense,” Sigyn said. “My lord serves the High One as well. What reason would Odin's warriors have for attacking him?” She did not say it aloud, but she also wondered why they would leave him alive. There was a warning here, but from who?

  “Seek the High One, mistress,” Axe Time said, and neither Valkyrie offered more.

  Sigyn thanked them for bringing Loki, and then had servants lead them out. She bade another to bar the main doors and let no one enter, then sat down next to Loki, grasping his hand lightly. His wounds, though serious, would heal. She was thankful that it was not easy to kill a god, although mindful that it was also not impossible.

  She knew this was due to the bargain struck with the mason. Loki was never popular in Asgard, but the swift and unexpected near-completion of the wall had turned all of the Aesir sour towards him, even more so than usual. It hurt her that they did not value him as they should, but she knew that she was powerless to do anything to change their opinions of him. His ways were different, and he would probably never be fully accepted by the Aesir.

  But she could not summon venom against them. She was Aesir, as well, and though she supported him and felt hurt at the rejections and ridicule he faced, she could not turn her back on her own kind. Feeling pulled in two different directions, she laid her head down on his arm.

  She felt a stirring several hours later, and realized that she had fallen asleep. She sat upright and saw her husband staring back at her with open, dazed eyes.

  “I was attacked,” he said, almost as a question.

  “Yes, my lord. You were attacked by—“

  “Einherjar,” he said, finishing the thought. “How did I get here?”

  “You were brought by two Valkyries. They found you lying near the wall.”

  He nodded slowly, as if he could remember being carried by them. “How long have I been in bed?” He sat up, pushing her hand away gently and setting his feet on the floor.

  “You should not be up yet. You were beaten
severely and must rest and heal.”

  “There is little time for that,” he snapped. “How long was I out?” His eyes bored into her, insistent and impatient.

  “Hours only, I think. I fell asleep watching over you, but I do not think a day has passed.”

  He nodded and got to his feet. “Good. There is much to do, and time quickly grows short.”

  “Let me get the servants to do your bidding. You can direct them as you like while you heal. There is no need for you to even leave your bed.”

  His eyes flashed angrily, but he was able to mostly hold his tongue in check. “If I do not discover the secret of the mason, and soon, these injuries will be nothing compared to what I will receive at the hands of the Allfather.”

  Her face expressed alarm. “The High One would never harm you.”

  “Don't be a fool,” he hissed. “If this bargain causes Freyja to be lost, the Allfather and the rest of the Aesir will blame it on me for urging the deal. Death will be the least of what they do to me.”

  “No, they would not do such things. They only threaten. Odin would not allow harm to fall on you, even if Freyja is lost.”

  He shook his head at her. “You know little of Odin.” There was a dark edge to his words that made her pause.

  “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, his eyes cast down as if searching his memories. “I am ever blamed for backhanded dealings, but the High One's schemes make mine seem pale. If you only knew the things he has done.”

  Sigyn clutched her hands, shaking her head slowly. “I don't believe you. The Allfather is good and kind.”

  Loki stared hard at his wife, his lips drawn into a thin line. “Would you know his black deeds?”

  She paled, but did not respond.

  “Long ago on a journey in Midgard,” he said, “we approached nine thralls working in a field. He revealed enough of himself for them to know that he was no mere traveler. He pulled a whetstone from his pouch and held it for them to see. 'This stone,' he said, 'will make your blades as sharp as those of the gods.' They did not believe him, so he sharpened one of their scythes and returned it. When the thrall swept his blade at the grass, it cut through the tall reeds with no effort. Their eyes went wide, and Allfather sharpened all their blades. The thralls were able to cut the entire field down in moments only, where it would have taken them hours.”