by Maia Jacomus
Balder nodded. “Yes, I do understand that.”
“One thing I’ll never understand is how they name their possessions like they’re children. Can you explain that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not very close to that mentality myself.”
I picked up a stone from the ground and faked enthusiasm. “What a substantial coating of dirt covers this rock! I believe I shall name it Astransifer!”
To my disbelief, Balder laughed. “Are we really so bad as to name rocks we find on the ground?”
“Not the rock—the dirt on the rock. The rock is called Refisnartsa.”
He laughed harder, and I laughed along, tossing the rock over my shoulder. He had the most amazing laugh, the kind that spreads and makes you fly. As the joke settled, he calmed and speculated, “The only merit I can find to naming things like that, is to identify them. Suppose there are two fine swords sitting side by side, which look alike. It’s not uncommon for things—especially mass-produced weapons—to look similar. But if you name them and stamp the name into them, you know which is which, and whose is whose. Likewise, if you think of all the spears my father owns…”
“A dozen at least,” I confirmed.
“…they do all have their own unique characteristics well enough, but what if he were to send a servant to fetch one, or if he lost one? He could say to find his spear, but how would the servant know which to look for? If he said, ‘Find Gungnir’, the servant knows to bring the spear gifted by you.”
I waggled my head in consideration. “I suppose that makes an ounce of sense. But still ridiculous is the fact that they own so many objects—and of the same kind.” I put my arm around his shoulder and asked with loud mocking, in order that Odin would overhear, “So what do you think of your father’s masochistic pursuit of wisdom?”
It didn’t take long for Balder to become my favorite Aesir—present company excepted. He certainly had his father’s affinity for wisdom and knowledge, but there was more to it: Odin’s wisdom, however extensive, was biased. He used it to determine his own beliefs of good and evil, and how to enforce such beliefs onto his followers. Balder, however, was more broad-minded, using his wisdom to explore all possibilities; not only to find the right and wrong answers, but to learn all the answers. During that trip, I learned more from Balder than I ever did all the time I’d known Odin. Just proves how overrated that old git can be.
We had a successful day—if you count three boars, eight geese, and two deer successful. We found a place to camp, and Odin left to gather firewood, leaving Balder and me with the task of skinning and preparing our game—leaving us alone. While we worked, we had some light, intellectual conversation. But there was one thing in particular that had burned at my brain, and which he could possibly know.
“Balder,” I began, “has your father ever told you about…ever told you why he decided to make me his blood-brother?”
He nodded. “While I was away, I kept contact with my father through his messenger ravens. They told me every word he had to say to me, exactly as he said them.”
“Don’t leave out the filthy language; I’d like to hear it come out of your mouth.”
He burst out laughing, and I joined along. I had wondered at first if my uncouth jokes might offend him, but he had a great sense of humor about most things. He then waved his hand through the air to calm himself. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. His first impression of you, before he discovered you were Jotun, was of an exceptionally clever and amusing comrade. And, coming from my father, that alone is an enormity. But because of your irreverent and unpredictable nature, he was wary.”
“And the fact that I was Jotun didn’t worry him at all?”
Balder shrugged. “I admit, I was paraphrasing.”
“Come on, then; straight from the raven’s mouth.”
Were he talking to anyone else, he would have restricted the truth to what they wanted to hear, to avoid making waves. But because he was talking to me, he knew the truth was valid. “He was wary about becoming too closely acquainted with a Jotun, saying that the lot of them are too dense and too savage to have a consistent personality.”
Then I burst out laughing. After all, Odin’s assessment wasn’t far off with the general Jotun populace. Don’t get me wrong, I could name several worth the time of day and the air they breathe, but…it was too funny, and too true. Balder grinned a little, but I think it was more at the sound of my squawky laughter than at the joke. I applauded as I eased my laughter and said, “I will give him that one.”
He continued somewhat uneasily: “The cinch came when you saved Iduna, since you helped the Aesir, while betraying the Jotun at the same time.”
I shrugged. “That is proof positive.” While I didn’t regret my actions against Thiazi, the word betrayal hung in my head, bringing my merriment to a dead halt. “What did he tell you about my children?”
He fell silent, finishing his work on one boar. “He greatly admires them.”
“Really?” I scoffed.
He looked me in the eye with all sincerity. “Yes, he does.”
“Even Fenrir?”
“Especially Fenrir. He described your son to me as noble, strong, and wise. He said that Fenrir and I could have become like brothers.”
“Could have?” A sudden rustle in the underbrush distracted him, but I wasn’t pacified. “What did your father mean by ‘could have’?”
But he didn’t hear me. He picked up his bow and drew an arrow, looking up. I decided to stand and look, too; Balder was too artless to intentionally drop the subject. Trusting his suspicions, I drew my bow as well.
Bows were morbidly laughable against what surfaced.
It was an owlbear nearly thirty feet tall—an arrow would have been no more than a pinprick to it. It had the build of a brown-furred bear, with the face and beak of an owl; its head, shoulders, back, and limbs covered in black feathers. I’d never seen one so massive, with such blood-red eyes and such long talons.
My first instinct was to bellow, “Odin!” If anyone could dispatch the monster, it would be him. But Balder dropped his bow, grabbed me by the wrist, and pulled me in the opposite direction.
“Let’s get out of here!” he insisted.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I bolted off alongside him before my knees had the chance to give out beneath me. And could he run! He was like that first beam of sunlight that shoots across the horizon at dawn. I only caught up because I was afraid for my life; normally, I couldn’t outrun a lame cow. Then, after my head had a chance to catch up with my fear, I remembered I was a shape-shifter. Why couldn’t I turn myself into a ridiculously enormous owlbear?
Because it’s a lot easier to hide from a beast than to fight it. I formed into a fly and hid myself in a tree hollow. I felt confident that Balder would be fine on his own, as fast as he could run. Well…I convinced myself that I was confident. Really, I was acting on self-preservation. When the owlbear passed, I peered out from hiding. In his haste, Balder tripped on a tree root and fell flat on his face, with the monster gaining on him. Finally, my survival instinct upgraded to humane decency. If I just sat there and let Balder be killed, then I would be responsible for the world losing the best thing that ever happened to it. Also, I would see my half-brother die.
I didn’t have enough time to shape-shift into a decent competitor for such a beast. As I flew to Balder as fast as I could, I formed into myself just in time to push Balder aside on the ground as the owlbear struck. With Balder out of danger, the beast’s talons gouged the right side of my body. I still have a scar left, see? Just there, at my waist. That’s what it’s from. Anyway, after it struck me, the owlbear left. Just left, just like that. But stranger than its sudden departure was what I finally noticed about it. As I was breathing through the pain, trying to rise to one knee, I saw that the owlbear only had one eye, a left eye—just like Odin.
Balder put his arms around my shoulder and helped me stand. “You have my gratitude, Loki,” he sa
id. Then he added confidentially, “But it really wasn’t necessary.”
“You think I did that to save your life?” I jeered. “Nah. I’d gotten scars on my left side from a hoard of angry ferrets. I just wanted my right side to match.”
“Can you walk?” He motioned like he was going to carry me, but I pulled away.
“Thanks, but I’d rather crawl on my belly than possibly have your father see me draped in your arms like some damsel in distress. Just be my crutch, and I’ll make it fine.”
Every hobble was a new discovery in pain, but it seemed to numb as we returned to our campsite. Not two seconds after we sat down, Odin came back with an armful of kindling for a fire. He played stupid—he looked at my scars and feigned confusion as he dropped the kindling.
“What happened?” he asked.
“An owlbear attacked,” I answered wryly.
He sat down with us, and between their powers, I started to heal. “Did you get it?” he asked.
“No. It just hit me, then went away…a big, one-eyed owlbear.”
“You don’t say.”
“I really do.”
The healing completed, with the exception of one scar leftover—intentionally. Then Odin suggested we start the fire so we could eat. All conversation turned to more inane topics as we roasted and ate our game. But the one-eyed owlbear didn’t leave my mind for a second, and as soon as Balder was asleep by the fire, I sat myself next to Odin, and without preliminaries, resurfaced the incident.
“Any particular reason you decided to cut me apart today?” I asked. “Or was there just a theme to this party that no one told me about?”
He shook his head with a glint of amusement in his eye. “I should have known I couldn’t hide from you, Loki. At any rate, be assured that your death was not my intention.”
“Then I should have told you before that I have no interest in joining the blood baths you host in Valhalla.”
“That’s not it, either.” He peered across the fire at his sleeping son, and his tone changed to complete sincerity. “His mother and I have been worried about his safety. We have reason to believe that someone means to harm him.”
“Ah!” I nodded. “Naturally, I’m a prime suspect.”
“You’re Jotun, you’re inscrutable, and you’re furious over the fate of your son Fenrir.”
I nodded, gritting my teeth. “You are the wisest, Odin.”
“I had to know that I could trust you around Balder, and that if he should come to harm, I would have just cause for defending your innocence.”
“Why do you even think that anyone would want to do Balder harm?”
An earth-shattering scream split the air, and every hair on my body stood on end. It didn’t stop, either; it came on in desperate waves, battering our ears with pure terror. But the truly terrifying thing, was that it was all coming from Balder—who was still asleep. His body convulsed as he screamed and shouted involuntarily, each belt of his voice making my spine more rigid with fear. But Odin was cool as water. He knelt down beside his restless son and carefully sat him up. Balder finally silenced as his eyes opened—usually bright and merry, they were sunken with dread and fatigue. Odin spoke a few words, drawing rune symbols with his finger into Balder’s palm until he calmed and fell asleep again.
“Is he alright?” I asked in a dead whisper.
Odin returned to his seat beside me. “Nightmares. Ever since he was a child, he has dreamed of his destruction. He can never see his dreams clearly—only shapes and muffled sounds. But they attack him with promises of death.”
I was silent a moment, disbelieving. “Balder?”
Odin merely nodded.
“But…Balder? His mind can’t even harbor such thoughts.”
“The nightmares are messages from the Fates; I’m sure of it. So you must now understand my concern.” He prodded the spot where he had left one of the scars on my skin. “A reminder, brother. The fate I see for my son is far greater than any the Fates themselves may know. If you can help me to guarantee Balder’s safety…” He silenced for a moment and slapped my back. “…then I will do everything in my wisdom and power to see that your son Fenrir walks free among us once more.”
It was one of the few suggestions that I was glad to consent to. “It’s a deal, brother.” I thought I understood then why he had been a party to chaining Fenrir. He suspected that my son could be a danger to Balder, for though the Golden Boy was gifted, his strength and ferocity was nothing to Fenrir’s. Of course, it seemed to me that Fenrir and Balder would get along fine, but it was common knowledge that sometimes Odin and his wife Frigg had perceptions into the future surpassed only by the Fates. I thought that maybe he had seen signs of a future event that would transpire—maybe by argument or accident, Fenrir would harm Balder; or he would appear to do so, and someone else would defend Balder by attacking Fenrir. Whatever the reason, at the time—for the first time—my son’s fate made sense, for Balder’s protection and for his own.
Of course, now I know that Odin was really just saving his own hind end by chaining up my son. Idiot. Fenrir had no vendetta against him—until he was chained up. Odin sealed the fate he was trying to prevent. Of all people, Odin should know that fate can’t be avoided, not in any case.
Not even in the case of Balder, as it turned out.
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE UNIVERSAL VOW
When we returned to Asgard the following day, through the flood of Aesir welcoming Balder home, the Shining Boy insisted on meeting Fenrir, much to everyone’s surprise. Odin had no qualms about it, so I led Balder to where my son was chained and bound. All the other Aesir followed, all eager to jump to the rescue, should my son attack their most precious and beloved god. Fenrir just laid with his head on his crossed paws with a surly glance up toward the gathered Aesir, probably feeling like a village clown.
I knelt down and stroked the soft fur atop his head. “Son, I want to introduce you to Balder, son of Odin. He has been very eager to meet you.”
Fenrir just rolled his eyes up at me with a groan.
Balder knelt down next to me, though a respectful distance away. “I am honored to finally meet you. I have great respect for your father.” With a smile, he added, “Especially his sense of humor. He makes me laugh like no one else.”
Feeling a little more comfortable, Fenrir rose to all fours and grinned. “Has he ever told you about the time he had to make the giantess Skadi laugh? He tied a goat to—”
I interrupted: “You don’t need to get along that well.”
Balder approached more closely, his smile growing. “Come on, tell me. Just whisper it.”
“Really,” I insisted, “you don’t want to know. It’s really not funny at all.” Nonetheless, Fenrir whispered the rest to Balder, who laughed and looked to me with disbelief. I just shrugged. “I owed her laugh. It’s partly because of me that her father Thiazi died.”
Then Heimdall…No, I’m not telling you any more about the goat. So Heimdall…No! I’ve already been pouring my heart out for how many hours now; leave me some of my dignity. Come on, keep that bowl still, or the venom’ll splash out. So, as I was saying: Balder and Fenrir talking and getting along, right? Then Heimdall, for whatever stupid reason, starts to draw out his sword. I don’t know if he was afraid that Fenrir was going to get vicious, or if he was just jealous that Odin’s son was giving so much attention to a Jotun wolf man—but for whatever dumb reason, he drew his sword and took one step forward. Fenrir saw it, was instantly struck with anger and suspicion of some other trap, and lashed out and bit Balder’s hand.
The Aesir gasped in unison and rushed forward. I stood in front of my son, separating him from Balder and protecting him from the mob. Then Balder shot up to his feet and held out his hands. “It’s okay!” he shouted. “No harm done!” To prove it, he showed both sides of the bitten hand—not a scratch. Knowing Fenrir’s strength, no one could believe it. “Heimdall, put your sword away. Fenrir may look like a beast, but he has the mentality of
a man. He will not harm me without cause. And, as you can see, he cannot harm me, even if he so desired.”
In awe, Thor looked over Balder’s hand. “What sort of magic is this, boy?”
Balder sighed, realizing it was time to reveal his secret. He drew his dagger and sliced the blade across his hand. Not even a dent. He even offered to Thor smash his foot with his hammer Mjollnir. After some reluctant hesitation, Thor brought down the hammer on Balder’s foot with all his might—nothing. While everyone marveled at his invulnerability, I turned to Fenrir, completely dumbfounded.
“Did you know about this?”
“Of course,” he answered. “I didn’t want to hurt him; I just wanted those morons to back off.”
I sat down beside him and whispered: “Do you know how he got his protection?”
“His mother Frigg came to me and made me vow not to hurt him, said she was afraid for him. At first, I didn’t want to do her any favors—why should I? But Frigg is a lot more sane and compassionate than her husband. So I made the vow.”
“Huh. I never thought I’d say this about anyone related to me, but you’re too nice.”
He shrugged. “Could be, but I doubt it. She sings to me every day now. Even brings me Iduna’s apples to eat. Just as long as Odin doesn’t find out. Besides, now having met him, I know I made the right choice.”
While his reply was interesting, it didn’t quite explain how Balder was safe from blades and divine hammers as well. I wanted to find out the whole truth, to see if I could protect my own children—even myself—in the same way. However, despite being her husband’s blood-brother, I really didn’t think Frigg would reveal the truth to me. After all, Odin turned into an owlbear and had me cut up just to prove that I wouldn’t hurt Balder—when they knew full well I wasn’t capable of hurting him, anyway. So I visited her in the form of an old woman.
“You certainly have a hale son,” I said, my voice cracking. “How does he stay so strong and healthy?”
Frigg smiled with that motherly pride and said, “I went all over the world and asked everything in turn to vow not to harm him.”