by Dave Freer
"If I go out there they'll think I'm another Valkyrie for them to deflower. And I have enough trouble with one drunken sot," she said.
"By my eye... Thjalfi."
"They don't listen to me, Allfather," said Thjalfi sullenly. "They say I am just a bondsman."
"Humph. I'll do it myself then," said Odin.
A door slammed. "Do you think he suspects?" said Thjalfi.
The woman laughed. "Him? He's far too vain."
"Best to wait until he's well asleep before... Stop that."
"Oh. Don't you like it any more?" she teased.
The man coughed. "He'll be back soon. And you never know when those birds of his will show up."
"I'm still going to poison those ravens."
"I tried," he said, glumly.
A little later two large grumpy warriors picked Jerry up, and transported him down many flights of stairs, and tossed him down into a pit. It seemed to be a place of strange shadows, monstrous, fearful shadows, as Jerry faded into unconsciousness. Those had been quite some blows he'd taken to the head, and it had been a long day.
* * *
When he awoke, Jerry realized that there were very few bits of him that didn't hurt, but that at least he was no longer cold. He began to slowly take stock of his surroundings. The surface he was lying on felt like stone. Opening his eyes a crack, the wall looked like stone too, stone with odd shadows leaping on it.
Firelight! No wonder it wasn't so cold. But... wasn't he in a dungeon?
He opened his eyes properly and saw that, fire or no fire, he was in a dungeon, and a place of torment. There was a very large snake high up one of the walls, and although it could not quite reach the man below who was bound to the three huge slabs with what looked like thick red-brown rope, the snake could spit venom at him. There was a harassed-looking woman crouched next to the bound man, holding a bowl.
The bowl was now almost slopping full of the poison. She darted with it to the fireplace. The snake spat and the bound man writhed and screamed. He must be enormously powerful because the very floor shook. The woman hastened back to hold the bowl in the way again, wiping his ravaged face with a rag. There were tears on her own face.
After a while he said, "It's all right Sigi. It's just pain. It'll pass." The voice was thick with agony, but there was no mistaking the affection.
Jerry sat up, with difficulty, as they'd not seen fit to untie his hands.
"Ah! Our visitor has stirred. So nice of you to drop in," said the bound victim sardonically.
Jerry was beaten up, mildly concussed, and half frozen. But he knew enough mythology to realize that the speaker could only be the bound god, Loki.
Loki, the father of lies, the architect of Baldr's death, general maker of trouble... and occasional savior of the gods of Asgard. A great cell-mate.
"There is some water there, in that rock-bowl," said the woman, gesturing with her elbow.
"Poor hospitality," said Loki, with a wry smile. "But there is something of a shortage of mead in these palatial quarters of mine, I'm afraid."
Jerry staggered to where the trickling water dribbled into a small depression in the floor, drank some of the cold water, and then washed his face. It was awkward with bound hands, but at least he could kneel and dip. The icy water hurt, but it did wake him up. He wasn't that sure that he wanted to be awake, but it seemed that he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter.
"So, stranger," said Loki, when Jerry had finished his ablution, and stepped uneasily nearer to them. "What brings you to this delightful spot?"
Jerry looked at the snake above them, very warily, but the serpent seemed to be ignoring him completely. "A certain one-eyed... traveler had me sent here."
Naming gods was a poor idea in the Mythworlds. It was never wise to call their attention to oneself. "And you, Son of Laufey?"
It was wry smile, but it was a smile. "I see my reputation, and my fate, have gone before me, mortal. I have been many places, maybe not as far as the wanderer, but far enough. There is that about you that speaks of further places. Places beyond even one-eye's ken. That must have rubbed him raw." Loki definitely took some savage pleasure in that last statement.
"He asked me a question, perhaps about that," admitted Jerry. "He asked in Norse, not in my tongue, so I was not able to reply. So he sent me here. To learn a lesson, I think."
Now those eyes were bright and mocking. "Heh. Not to answer him is to survive, mortal. He can't bear not knowing. I'd find ways to avoid telling him, if you can. He's nearly as tricky as me, though."
It made sense. The Krim didn't seem to place any value on the lives of the human victims which it wasted during its re-enactments of myths. It would only keep him alive if there was something to be gained from doing so.
"I was almost free, and my repayment and Ragnarok the terrible had almost begun, when I would have destroyed all that lives," said Loki conversationally, "When Odin's power was renewed. Is this anything to do with you, man from a far place?" That was said calmly, but there was a terrible hatred, barely masked, underneath the words.
Jerry shook his head. "No." He was glad to be able to say that. "It's the Krim."
"These are a people of whom I have not heard. When Naglfar sails, they too will not be forgotten."
"No," said Sigyn," they will not," and she was just as grim as he was about that.
"The Krim is a thing, not a people," explained Jerry. "It's that pyramid that one-eye wears around his neck. Or at least that is its symbol. It is a machine. A device. I believe it seeks the destruction of my people. My world."
"And it has enlisted one-eye to do it," said Loki admiringly. "It couldn't have made a better choice, really."
"Except you," said Jerry with equal urbanity.
That actually got Loki to laugh. "Except me, indeed. But what do I have against your people, your world?"
Jerry was surprised to see Sigyn wink at him. "Oh, what does that matter," she said. "Loki will destroy everything. He's bad."
The bound god shook his head. "You do know how to ruin my lines, Sigi. I've got a reputation to keep up."
"Ah, husband," she said quietly, a hand soothing his brow. "What does it all matter now? They have killed one of our children, and changed the other into a wolf. What do we care what they think? It has been many centuries since I saw you laugh. I had forgotten. You used to make me laugh all the time."
"There is not much to laugh about, Sigi," said Loki, the grimness returning.
"That didn't used to stop you," she said, caressing him with one hand while she kept the bowl positioned to catch the snake's dripping venom with the other. "Even when they were all united against you, you mocked them and laughed at them. Only Thor dared to stand up against you."
"I never understood that. Why did he let them do this to me? The Thunderer has no brains, but he's not unfair," said Loki.
"I don't know," answered Sigyn. "He played no part in your binding. But what I said was that back when you laughed at them, they could not stand against you. This mortal made you laugh instead of wallowing in our bitterness. Maybe if you can laugh again, we can break free."
"It has to be worth a try," said Loki. "Talk, mortal."
Jerry took a deep breath. It hurt his ribs. He wished he had Liz's brashness and courage. But she wasn't here, so he'd just have to do his best. "My name is Jerry, Loki. Not 'mortal.' I've defeated one set of gods already, and if I have to beat another I will. I'm only interested in helping you break free on certain conditions."
"You make me smile already, mortal that dictates to gods, and claims to defeat them. And Sigyn is right, with that comes hope. Not a lot of it, but a tiny spark. Why should I negotiate, Jerry? Ragnarok is sure. The wanderer himself knows he cannot win when the Time comes."
Jerry shrugged, as nonchalantly as he could. "Nothing is sure, this time around."
"It is all happening again!" said Sigyn. "I was sure of that."
"And," continued Jerry, "if I am right, this is the
pattern. It will happen again, and again, until the Krim's masters get tired of it, unless we stop them."
"That's a powerful argument," conceded Loki, with a crooked grin. "Once is bad enough. So, name your terms, Jerry."
Jerry could understand why Loki had got away with blue murder so often in Norse myth. His smile went all the way to his eyes. There was mischief in those eyes, but there was also a trustability to it. In some ways it reminded him of Lamont's youngest child's smile. It had the same childlike quality to it. Not heedful of consequences perhaps, but with no true intent of evil. And yet...
Loki led the forces of giantkind against the Æsir in the final battle. The gods had bound him, but not killed him. Odin had by this time known that Loki and Loki's offspring, would kill him, and the other Ás. Why had he allowed him to live? There had to be reasons. Odin was not known for fairness.
Jerry swallowed. "Firstly. My girlfriend, my best friend and his wife and children are out there. I won't have them hurt."
Loki nodded. "We place our values in those we know and love most. Many are the men who would kill a stranger."
"But when the world falls, those close to us must fall too," said Sigyn.
Jerry started realizing that she was more than just loyal. Well, to cope with a man like Loki you'd have be clever and subtle at manipulation.
"I will have vengeance for my sons, Loki," she continued. "You promised me that." There was an implacability there, that Jerry could feel was as unstoppable as the tide. "You promised me Asgard would fall."
Loki sighed. "Never make promises to women, Jerry. Not even in your cups. They have a way of remembering everything you have said, in exactly the way that suits them." Despite the sarcasm in the words, Loki's smile at her contained both affection and acknowledgment of the agreement. "I said that I would destroy those who did what they did to Narfi and Váli."
"And to do that we must bring down the walls of Asgard," she said.
Loki shrugged. "Which I arranged to have built, and which will withstand the mountain giants and the frost giants, among which I have my kin."
"But not the sons of Muspelheim," said Sigyn quietly.
Jerry had it now, that elusive trace of memory. Surtur the fire demon, who had spread his fire and darkness all over the nine worlds at the end of Ragnarok. Surtur, the lord of the fiery South, that balanced Nifelheim of the frozen North. There was a certain symmetry to Norse myth. Sigyn might not want to have Loki destroy the world, but she would let him, if that was the cost of her vengeance. And if Jerry had it right, Ragnarok was something that virtually nothing had survived.
Chapter 11
Watching from among the heather and rocks on the ridge, Lamont saw how the dragon wound its way down to the burn and drank from the dark water, and then turned and made its way back. It huffed as it went, emitting clouds of yellowish noxious-looking vapor from its nose.
"Where are those kids?" asked Emmitt.
Ty and Tolly had disappeared again. Lamont was beginning to regret pairing them up. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but Ty was enough of a handful on his own. He just had to be one of the most inventive and creative eight-year-old fabricationists in the United States. Marie called it lying, but Lamont suspect that to Ty the line between truth and fiction was somewhere in cartoon network.
"Darn those kids. Where did you last see them?"
"They were just down slope from me. Playing some game. I told them to lie still."
Lamont studied the slope. No Chicago Bears sweatshirt visible. There was a slight indent, an incipient stream-bed, with more cover in it than on the rest of the hillside, just below where the kids had been. "They must have gone down the gully. I'll go and look."
"We'll stick together," said Marie firmly. "There's nowhere else they could have gone."
So they made their way down. They found them in a small cave—along with two other people.
One was a man who could have passed for Arnold Schwarzenegger's body double, except that he was blond and had a naked sword in his hand. The other—a short and stocky bearded dwarf—had not drawn his weapon, but looked decidedly nasty.
"—ling you the truth," Ty was saying. "The power-rangers are coming. We're just scouting for them because Dracona the green transformer has their scent. I wouldn't touch us if I were you."
"Tyrone, you come here this minute!" said Marie, startling the two strangers out of any action they might have been contemplating.
Lamont kept a firm hold on the rock that he'd picked up. It wasn't much against that sword, but it was all there was to hand, here. Admittedly, by the look on the face of the tall guy with the sword, he wouldn't need it that much. The big blond looked positively relieved to see them. He lowered his sword, pointed at a stack of implements against the wall, and said something in a lordly gabble.
What was it that saying architects were so fond of? Form defines function, if Lamont remembered right. It was true, Lamont reflected. Those things might be Norse era tools, but they were still spades, and the blond sword-swinger plainly was expecting people who didn't have swords to do the digging, especially coal-dust covered ones.
Well, a spade—even a wooden one with metal edge—was still a better weapon than a rock. "Take a spade, people," said Lamont in a very even voice. His son and Medea's were still too close to a man with a naked sword. "And try to look like that's what you came here to do."
A spade is a good disguise. See a man with a spade and you assume that he's a workman, thought Lamont, looking at the blond swordsman's casual stance as he attempted to talk to the now blue-kneed PSA agents. It had been a fairly brisk early autumn day back in Chicago. Lamont, Marie, Liz and kids all were dressed for that. But it was much too cold for the gear the PSA agents were wearing. Sandals, brass greaves, the skirty thing—a peltoi, he thought it was called—and a cuirass didn't do too well in this temperature.
Lamont almost grinned. A pity Jerry wasn't here. He'd like to have pointed out that they looked mighty cuirass...
Blondie looked a bit scornful about their outfits, but seeing as they'd brought him some serfs to do his digging he wasn't making a fuss. He and the dubious-looking dwarf led them down into the valley, across the burn, and to the dragon's path. He pointed. Lamont added the Norse word for dig into his vocabulary.
"A hole big enough to trap a dragon?" said Liz quietly. "You've got to be kidding me. Let's get out of here, Lamont. I'll distract him, you hit him. We can deal with the dwarf."
"Okay."
She paused, seeing someone new appear on the scene. From nowhere, it seemed like. "Um. On second thought, better keep digging. That's the guy we saw in the castle. Odin himself, if Jerry was right."
It was Odin indeed, in his blue cloak and broad hat, and with just one eye. Fortunately he was not really interested in labor unrest. He was pointing at the ground. Maybe he was saying that Blondie didn't have a building permit. Lamont noticed, however, that Odin's arrival had led to the dwarf's abrupt departure.
And Odin's departure led to the pit digging being moved too. They were now to dig a trench up the slope. Fortunately, it was fairly soft loam. Unfortunately, their chances for rushing the blond muscular warrior were considerably slimmer. He was sitting on a high rock, sharpening his sword. He tossed a fragment of wool into the air and held the blade out as it fell. The sword appeared to split the drifting wool.
Surely nothing could be that sharp? On the other hand, did they really want to find out?
"There'll be a chance to sneak off later," said Liz, quietly.
It certainly seemed a safer option, and fortunately Blondie wasn't after much in the way of entrenchments. He was not watching his diggers but keeping a wary eye on the dragon's cave. He obviously saw something which made him decide that now was the time to leave and suddenly they were herded back up to the shallow cave where the dwarf had made a fire. The PSA agents looked like they were going to kiss him. Blondie didn't seem to be planning to stay and enjoy it though. He took up a folded pie
ce of brown coarse fabric and turned towards the mouth of the cave.
"When he's gone," whispered Liz.
But then Blondie turned back, beckoned to Lamont, and tossed the fabric at him. It was a lot heavier than it looked. Lamont's knees almost buckled.
Now, Blondie gestured for Lamont to follow him. So they all started trooping out, but he waved them back with that bright sword of his.
Lamont followed him back down the hill to the shallow pits. Blondie got into one, pointed at the rough cloth, and said something in Norse. Lamont got the message, even without the Norse. He covered up the hole, with its warrior inside, and pinned down the edges of the cloth with rocks. Now was the perfect time to hit Blondie so hard with the shovel that he couldn't use his sword, and depart hurriedly.
But Lamont couldn't bring himself to do it. The idiot was plainly planning to stab the dragon from underneath, and that dragon made Bitar and Smitar look kittenish.
From under the cloth the blond warrior said something which Lamont guessed to be "vamoose." Looking at the belch of yellow smoke coming from the dragon-cave, Lamont didn't need any further invitation. He legged it across the peat-stained stream and ran for the cave. Now. maybe, they could get out of here...
Looking back, he saw that the huge green dragon was slowly making his way out of his lair. Lamont ducked behind a handy rock and wished there had been a very much bigger handy rock. Peeping out through some fronds of dead fern that still clung to the stone, he watched the dragon ponderously advance down the path toward the pit where the blonde Norseman lay hidden.
Lamont could see three possible outcomes. First, the man might just succeed. Secondly, the dragon might just find him and kill him. Thirdly, he might wound the dragon. It was the third possibility that worried Lamont the most—and, unfortunately, it seemed the most likely. This was not a very large valley, it was not a very deep cave that his family were hiding in, and this was a very small rock he was hiding behind. And a wooden spade wasn't going to make much of an impression, if a sword that sharp couldn't.
He watched. And waited.