Arvid swallowed. Suddenly a thick lump seemed to sit in her throat, but she pulled herself together and tried not to think about the incident again.
“It’s not important,” she whispered.
Loke frowned as he threaded the last bead on Arvid’s hair. He took the three strands of hair and wrapped them around Arvid’s topknot, where he fastened them with a small hairpin, which was handed to him by the Njema. Then he stepped back and looked at her intently, almost like a painter who for the first time looked at his finished work.
The Njorkma turned to the crowd and raised his arms. “The marriage is hereby officially confirmed.”
A thunderous applause swelled. Uncertainly, Arvid looked around the room and in the countless silver-gray faces. Not all of the guests applauded. Some looked serious, but most of them happy and friendly, and wherever Arvid discovered the brown-clad figure of a servant, she was met by a joyful smile. Today was a good day for the people of Sölunnir, the day a human became part of the royal family, even if she only had a minor role to play. It was a good feeling to experience the joy of those people. Despite the pain in her heart, a gentle smile began to spread on her face.
“We should go,” Loke said to her.
Arvid nodded. She began to descend the steps of the altar, but Loke unceremoniously grasped her around the waist and put her down beside him. They followed the two runemasters up to the podium at the end of the room, where Byleist and Naal were waiting for them now. Once at the top, they turned around and waved to the crowd, then they stepped through the door in the back wall. The Njema and the Njorkma remained in the hall. As the door closed behind them, the noise and chattering voices of the guests trailed off almost entirely.
It was the same room where they had been waiting before the start of the ceremony yesterday, but it had changed. In the middle stood a large table, which was cluttered with paper and writing utensils. Ghelm, the old scribbler, rose from his chair to greet them, but Loke’s mother beat him to it.
“I guess I have congratulations to make good for,” she said soberly. “Well, Loke, you might want to lift your wife up for me,” she added sarcastically.
“No,” Loke said coolly. “I guess you’ll have to kneel down, Mother.”
Naal stared Loke in a hostile manner. Arvid glanced at Byleist, who silently rolled his eyes. It seemed to happen frequently that Loke was arguing with his mother, but Arvid didn’t want it to happen because of her.
“You don’t need to do that, Your Highness,” Arvid said. “It wouldn’t be sincere anyway, and a mere waste of time and energy.”
“At least she is direct,” Naal said. She measured Arvid with a contemptuous look, but as vulnerable as Arvid was with Loke, his mother’s conscious attempts at hurting her barely touched her. She had accepted that Naal couldn’t stand her and regarded her as just another worthless human. But she knew she was not.
“At least she’s more diplomatic than you,” growled Loke.
Naal passed over Loke’s comment and looked at Arvid. “You don’t need to call me Highness anymore,” she said sourly. “Funnily enough, you now have an equally high rank as me. Only on the physical height you have some work to do. Perhaps you should have yourself a portable stool made.”
“Mother!” cried Byleist.
“What?” she asked with feigned innocence. “I’m only making constructive suggestions. So that she is not getting stepped on one day.”
“Enough now!” Byleist said sharply. “We really have better things to do than to insult each other.”
His words had an effect, although the mood was frigid the next few hours and both Naal and Loke remained in dogged silence. It was obvious that Byleist tried his best to ignore this fact. He patiently explained to Arvid whom the letters on the table should reach. All of them had already been written by Ghelm. The recipients were a handful of influential houses in the Ice Wastes, the royal families of Utstern and Borkh and a large number of dwarven peoples. The one letter to Asgard Loke wrote personally.
Here and there Arvid tried to read a few lines, but she soon realized that the letters mainly contained the cumbersomely worded information that she and Loke had gotten married. Ghelm had also used the opportunity to emphasize and praise the value and importance of the relations between Isvirndjellen and the recipients of the letters, which had led to long, dry treatises. After a while Arvid gave up reading and confined herself to signing the letters as fourth and last, before they went back to Ghelm.
Finally they were finished, and only Loke was still busy completing the letter to Asgard. Arvid, who was sitting not far from him, watched with some admiration as he wrote down rune by rune, so clearly and cleanly, as if they were printed.
“There is one good thing about all this,” Naal said finally, breaking the silence in the room. “I can at last see my son in his natural form for some time.”
“That’s not his natural form,” said Arvid.
Naal’s face darkened as she looked at Arvid. “As close to his natural form as possible,” she said with an icy voice. “But I know. Of course you think the measly, human body he uses in Asgard was his preferred shape. You’re mistaken.”
Arvid closed her eyes for a moment. There were many things that she would have liked to throw at Naal, but she controlled herself. “Forgive me, but you have no idea what I think.”
“It’s completely irrelevant what you think,” said Naal. “Loke is my son. And he is a giant, if you like it or not.”
“He’s a shapeshifter, in case it escaped you.”
Naal gave a short, dry laugh. “As much as I wish he wasn’t, it has not escaped me.” Her face hardened. “It’s a damned curse,” she murmured. “How can a mother deserve this?”
“It gives him great power, Mother,” Byleist interfered now. “You’d better be grateful.”
“Grateful?” Naal said with bitter mockery. “For what? My son bearing something inside him that constantly makes him deny his true nature? It even poisons his thoughts. Do you think he’s always been so… abnormal?”
“Be quiet, Mother!” Loke now hissed angrily. “I’m sick of your whining.”
“All I want is the son I once gave birth to,” Naal continued, unfazed. “I’m your mother, after all. Isn’t my happiness worth anything to you?”
“Please, Mother,” Byleist said urgently, “the time is highly inappropriate.”
Naal snorted and turned her gaze back to Arvid. “My son is a giant, not some human or another absurd, repulsive creature. I want no freaks as grandchildren.”
Arvid drew in a sharp breath and turned away.
Byleist stared at Naal, stunned. “Mother! You can’t just…”
“Would you all just shut up!” Loke thundered and got up with an angry jerk. “To me your happiness is worth as much as mine is to you, Mother—I don’t give a single, fucking damn!”
For a moment he glared at her angrily, then he sat down again and continued writing. Arvid was petrified. Naal and Byleist looked shocked as well, but only for a while. When Loke was finished and Naal signed the letter, her face had again taken a hard, bitter expression.
“I guess my duty’s done here,” she said coolly and rose and left without any farewell. Shortly afterward, Loke followed her example.
After Arvid had caught herself again, Byleist offered her to take her to her new quarters. Arvid had no objection; on the contrary, she could use some company at the moment, and Byleist seemed like someone who didn’t let himself get thrown off track so quickly.
“Why do I get new quarters?” she asked, as they walked along one of the long corridors of the fortress.
“You’re no longer a guest,” said Byleist, “but part of the family. It would be inappropriate for you to stay in guest quarters, separated from your husband. It wouldn’t make a good picture, if that g
ot around.”
Arvid hesitated. “I’ll live with Loke?”
Byleist laughed. “But yes. He is your husband.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Loke’s not very sociable.”
“There you are right. He is a loner. Nevertheless, it would be inappropriate. If anyone knows about the power of stories and rumors, it’s Loke. They get from the servants to our guests and are carried far beyond our borders.”
Arvid understood. She could only hope that she and Loke wouldn’t be constantly at loggerheads, like back in his home in Jördendheim. Here in Sölunnir there was no Nod, who brought them back to their senses if their quarrels began to get out of hand. At the thought of her friend her heart sank.
“Tell me, Byleist,” Arvid finally began cautiously, “has your mother always been so hostile?”
“Oh, don’t attach too much importance to it,” Byleist said. “She has never been particularly approachable, but right now she’s just scared.”
“Scared? Forgive me, but she didn’t exactly seem scared to me.”
“And yet she is,” said Byleist. “She fears for Loke. To you it may seem incomprehensible, but… our mother loves all her children, even Loke. Loke perhaps most of all of us, but he is also the one who causes her most pain. He has never done what she would have liked, never what she considers to be the right thing.”
“To me it seems more as if he isn’t what she would have liked,” Arvid said.
“Perhaps,” conceded Byleist. “Surely she would have preferred him to grow into a goodly man and found a family here in Isvirndjellen. That was what she had planned when he was born.”
“He should become king one day.”
“Yes, he should. But instead he took to being anything but a giant and a king. Throughout his life, our mother had to watch as he did things that she disliked. In all the years in which he was not here, she had to hear and read from a distance how he allied himself with the wrong sides, just to betray them again. Her son was feared, despised, hated, worshiped and admired by others, then punished again and even tortured, blackmailed and abused because of his powers, while he blackmailed and abused others.” Byleist sighed deeply and shook his head. “He’s one big puzzle. Nobody knows what is going on inside him, perhaps not even he himself. I love him as a brother, but… yes, he is the god of chaos. He’s like a hurricane in the dark. Impressive, in a frightening way beautiful, but also merciless and deadly if you stand in his way. And no one sees him coming.”
“Do you fear him?” said Arvid.
“If I fear Loke?” asked Byleist in surprise, then he laughed. “No. He’s my brother. I have a special place in the eye of his storm.”
They climbed several flights of stairs and reached a part of the fortress which Arvid had never seen before. The walls were no longer raw and coarse stone, but smoothly sculpted and sometimes painted with colored patterns. Huge woven carpets and heavy curtains hung on the walls; over the doors large, semi-circular paintings in carved wooden frames could be seen. They passed numerous niches with overstuffed chairs and polished stone tables and Arvid repeatedly discovered small rippling wall fountains.
Finally they reached a two-wing door, guarded by two armed giants. Behind it a dark, domed hall with a mirror-like floor and a huge fountain received them. Above the water hung a ring of turquoise star lamps.
“Everything beyond this point is part of the royal family’s quarters,” said Byleist. “Your chambers are over there,” he pointed to one of five black doors, “but I wanted to show you something else first.”
He led Arvid through a door on the opposite side, which led into a long, straight corridor lit by an endless succession of star lamps. There were no doors, but the walls were tightly covered with colored hangings. At first glance they looked like ordinary wall carpets with patterns and coats of arms, as Arvid had often seen them in the fortress, but after a few steps she stopped in surprise.
The motifs were so detailed and complex, like paintings. None of the images looked like the other. She looked at Byleist questioningly.
“Yes, it is these pictures I wanted to show you,” he said. “Do you like them?”
Arvid nodded and stepped up close to a picture which showed a forest, ending at steep cliffs. It was embroidered, composed of thousands of stitches and colored threads.
“Yes,” she said in amazement. “Do they tell a story?”
“Every picture its own,” said Byleist, “although I know close to none of them. Loke made them.”
Arvid’s eyes widened in amazement. She took a step back in order to better see the huge number of pictures. “Loke made… all these pictures?” she asked in disbelief.
“I’ve never counted them,” confessed Byleist. “But yes… He is very productive.”
Arvid slowly walked along the wall, looking at the many detailed pieces. She saw mountains, forests, hills, but also desolate landscapes, ice and snow. She saw bridges and houses, cities along rivers and some behind thick walls, wide sky, but also dark rooms, caves and dens.
At one point Arvid stopped. On the wall in front of her hung four pictures, which all showed the same motif, but in different compositions. “This city he has pictured several times,” she said thoughtfully.
Byleist joined her. “It’s a city that no longer exists today—I can’t even remember its name. It lay down at the White River, near the border, before it all began to thaw.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know exactly,” admitted Byleist. “Maybe it was torn down, maybe just changed. Anyway, today humans live there. The town no longer belongs to the realm of giants.”
“So it was taken during the war.”
“No. The area fell to the humans because of a contract between Asgard and the then still-united Jökutnjamargr. It was a contract Loke had negotiated, but unfortunately it proved to be a fatal error.”
“The Treaty of the White River,” Arvid suddenly realized, looking at Byleist in surprise. “Loke never mentioned that he had signed it.”
“Well, he did not,” said Byleist, “but our father did. However, he did so because of Loke’s specific recommendation. Father trusted him. After all the losses his kingdom had suffered after the creation of Asgard, he was not ready to take any further risk. The treaty meant peace, finally. It meant that Jökutnjamargr lost a small area in the south, but the border was defined. Asgard committed to no longer conquering more of our land by force. I suppose you know what happened next.”
“I do.”
For a while they were silent and looked at the picture in front of them, then Arvid asked, “Do you know more stories that are shown here?”
“Unfortunately, only one or two,” Byleist said, “but I’ll have to tell them another time. There is still a lot of work waiting for me. I wanted to show you this place because the pictures here show tiny fragments of Loke’s life. Maybe you can learn more from them than he will ever reveal himself.”
“Thank you, Byleist,” Arvid said, “this really means a lot to me.” She hesitated, then added, “I… like your brother very much.”
“I know. And I admire you for it.”
Arvid looked at the ground. “I know I mean nothing to him, but… I still hope that I can help him make up for his mistake.”
Byleist crouched down and put his big hand on Arvid’s. “I admit I don’t know what’s going on inside Loke,” he said seriously, “but you should know that your presence doesn’t leave him untouched. He is considerate of you, and trust me… for Loke, that really is something.”
Arvid tried to smile. “Then I’ll try to be grateful.”
Byleist brought her to the entrance of Loke’s quarters. Allegedly Loke didn’t like it when others entered his chambers, and his brother respected that. He promised to send a healer who would look after Arvi
d’s arm, then he took his leave.
Arvid was uneasy when she finally entered. She came into a relatively small, circular room, which contained nothing but a simple stone table with a number of heavy wooden chairs. Behind it followed a small passage with a wall fountain, which led to another door. As Arvid stepped into the room behind it, she paused, startled. The huge, dome-shaped cave reminded her so much of Loke’s home in Jördendheim’s mountains that she was seized by a strange, very intense feeling. It seemed to her as if she had returned home after a long journey.
There were the same fur covered niches in the walls, huge bookshelves and massive, carved chests. Water was dripping down in a white stone bowl from a huge cluster of star lamps on the ceiling. Only on the floor were colorful patterned rugs instead of skins.
Arvid walked around. She found something that looked like a library, a room with a huge bed and finally a round room that would be something like a study. There was a huge table and shelves crammed with paper, rolled parchment, pens, bottles of ink, candles, sealing wax, books and envelopes, stamps, maps, heavy leather wallets and hundreds of other things. On the other side of the room, however, stood a large chest, right next to a lush cushioned seat niche and a smaller table, where a mess of fabric and sewing tools lay.
Suddenly Arvid thought she heard a voice and looked up. Had someone just called her name? When she came back into the main cave, she saw Loke’s brother Helblindi standing at the door.
“Here you are,” he said. “Byleist sends me to change your bandage.”
“Oh,” Arvid said, then smiled and walked toward him. “I thought he would send a healer.”
“Well, he did.”
“You are a healer?” said Arvid, surprised.
“Yes indeed. My brother obviously doesn’t speak of me very often—well, that’s not surprising.”
Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) Page 44