by Maia Jacomus
I smiled—for a brief moment. When they all figured out he wasn’t throwing his hammer, they didn’t take the hint. They all proceeded to throw empty mugs, knives, horns, helmets, and even chairs. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped out from where I had been leaning against the doorway and shouted, “Haven’t you had enough?!” They all halted and looked toward me. “Yes, Balder is invulnerable, we get it! Don’t you have better ways to waste your time, like setting fire to your beards, or getting caught in an avalanche?”
Then, I couldn’t believe how they reacted: They laughed at me. One jeered, “Poor Loki wants attention!” Another mocked, “Loki is jealous of Odin’s son!”
I was so disgusted, I just growled and left. I wasn’t even two steps away from the alehouse when I turned and looked through the window: They picked up their game where they left off. Then Thor came out and stood beside me.
“I can’t think why I ever went there,” he told me, looking back through the window with almost as much chagrin as myself.
“I think it’s time for a change,” I decided. “A real change.”
It was a simple plan: If Balder was actually injured, maybe the shock would finally get the Aesir to stop assaulting him. Now, however short my attention span may be at times, my mind will ensnare details that I know are of interest or may be of use to me. So, tracing back to my discussion with Frigg about her son’s protection, I remembered that she mentioned one thing that did not vow not to harm Balder: the mistletoe. Looking at the green tree with its dainty white berries, it does look innocent enough. But, really, if Frigg cared all that much about her son to take the trouble of asking everything in the world to vow, she should have been more thorough. I plucked a sprig of mistletoe and, with my dagger, whittled the stem into a sharp dart point.
I thought I had it all figured out as I strolled to the alehouse the following day, but as I took the door handle, I remembered: I had vowed not to harm Balder. Maybe I could, so long as I wasn’t laying my hand on him, but if Odin were to find out, any such contingency could mean prolonged imprisonment for my son. I had to get someone else to throw it.
For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, scanning over the sea of cackling imbeciles for a good candidate. I found the perfect man near the back of the room: Balder’s blind brother Hod. First of all, no one was even looking in his direction, so no one would see my involvement. Second, he was blind, which meant I could direct the aim of the mistletoe with his hand. And, altogether, I wouldn’t break my vow.
I sauntered across the brawling mass to the corner where he stood, and whispered to his ear, “It’s amazing how everything just bounces off your brother. Why aren’t you throwing anything?”
“I haven’t anything to throw,” he replied. “And I can’t see where to aim for him.”
“You shouldn’t miss out on this. Here, borrow my dart. I’ll guide your hand.”
“Okay. Let me know what happens.”
“Of course.”
I took out the mistletoe sprig and positioned it in his hand. I then leveled his arm so that his throw would land somewhere near Balder’s right shoulder. I wondered for a moment if Balder would be angered by it, but if it made the Aesir give up their inane ritual, I knew he would forgive me. So with my guidance, Hod threw the mistletoe.
I was a complete idiot not to consider our position in the room. Being so far back, the dart had to fly through the air, which was polluted by other projectiles. Its flight course was redirected when it ricocheted off a thrown rock—it was going to miss Balder completely. But then he turned in his seat, facing the onslaught for a moment. “Loki?” he asked. He must have seen me enter. Before I could realize the target he was presenting, the mistletoe dart pierced into his chest—right into his heart. He clutched his chest in pain, looking down with confusion at the blood flowing out of him, and collapsed.
The room fell instantly silent. I stared unblinking, waiting for Balder to wake.
“What’s going on?” Hod’s voice cut through.
Thor was the first to rise and check on Odin’s son. His voice was so suppressed by shock, that I nearly didn’t hear him: “He’s dead. Balder is dead.”
I couldn’t believe it. I thought that Balder might have picked up my morbid sense of humor, or something. But then I knew…
…
…I knew that was inconceivable—Balder couldn’t possibly have a sense of humor that sick…
Thor plucked out the dart and roared, “Who threw this mistletoe dart?!”
Hod jerked in fear. “The dart killed him?”
Thor threw people aside to cross the room to Hod. “You threw it, Hod?”
Tears streaked from his glazed eyes as he said, “I didn’t know! I couldn’t see! Loki, he guided my hand! He gave me the dart!”
Thor’s eyes burned like erupting volcanoes as he turned on me. “What is this, Loki? What have you done?!”
I was so dumbfounded, that the only think I could think to say was, “What are you even doing here, Thor?”
Snorting and snarling, he drew his hammer from his pocket and raised it over his head. Everyone surrounded him, chanting, “Crusher! Crusher! Crusher!” The vein in his neck throbbed like a writhing serpent, and his face turned purple. But when he brought down his hammer, he thrust it into the ground, breaking the planking into mere splinters. He then grabbed me by my collar, thrusting his face to mine, and said, “We’ll bring him to Odin’s judgment.”
I didn’t know what else to do but form into a fly and retreat out the nearest window.
…
And, well…that explains how you didn’t see me for a couple weeks. I hid myself in the last place anyone would look for me: my old Jotunheim house. Most of the time was spent on something I’d done very seldom throughout my life: self-reflection. I wondered how deserving I was of all the insults and suspicion tossed my way; how deserving I was of all the respect and camaraderie I managed to receive. This all largely revolved around the incident with Balder: What in my lifetime formed my brain such that it found logical merit in intending to harm Balder, in order to free him from harm? Why didn’t the possibility of my half-brother’s death ever enter my deranged mind?
And why wasn’t I as sorry as I should be? At the root of any grief I felt, was a seed of triumph. After all, my plan did work: The Aesir stopped harassing Balder. Balder was beyond the harassment that belittled every virtue of his being into a mere target—that was it. That’s why I wasn’t sorry.
One day, my thoughts were interrupted by a very unusual sound. I couldn’t quite define it—it sounded like shuddering, gasping, with the soft patter of rain. When I went to the window to identify the sound, I recognized the Aesir’s messenger, Hermod, approaching my house. I formed myself into an old giantess as he entered my home.
“What is your errand here?” I asked in a withered voice.
“I come on behalf of Odin’s son, Balder,” he said. “Balder is dead, and Odin has appealed to Hel for his release from the realm of the dead.”
Curious as to how my daughter handled such a situation, I asked, “And what did she decide?”
“She will only release him if everything in the world weeps for his death.” That explained the odd sounds—all the world was weeping. In my mind, I congratulated my daughter’s fine judgment: She recognized the courage of someone approaching her with such a request, but at the same time, granted no extra privileges on grounds of divinity.
Hermod stared expectantly at me. “I appeal to you to weep in grief for Balder.”
After only a moment’s thought, I set my wrinkled face stern and silent. “I have no cause to weep.”
He looked at me with disbelief. “You what?”
“I have no cause to weep.”
“But you must. If even one thing in this world does not weep, then Balder will remain dead.”
I only repeated, “I have no cause to weep.”
His wide eyes fell into a glare. “Your name, then?”
“
Thokk.”
“You will weep, Thokk, when Odin has dealt with you.”
But as he left, we both knew that there would be no negotiation: Hel’s compromise was not met, and that was the end of it. Still, I knew that I couldn’t stay in my house to be found out. So I returned to my natural form and headed out of Jotunheim for new temporary lodgings.
You remember that day, I’m sure. I don’t think anyone will ever forget it. The whole world was like a tapestry with its colored inks being washed away, the tears of everything streaking the landscapes into blurs. The world was drowning in its grief, accomplishing nothing except for a possible renewal—for the first time in history, all of creation had a common cause.
All of creation, except me.
Some days after the tears subsided, I decided to return to Asgard. I didn’t want to spend my days hiding, and it seemed obvious that Balder’s death wouldn’t be soon forgotten, so I decided to talk to Odin myself. So wise as he was, he could possibly understand how and why the incident occurred. If not, I could weave an interesting enough lie. I only knew that I couldn’t escape him forever, and I’d rather return to him of my own will and on my own terms, rather than being captured and dragged in by Heimdall or some other jerk.
When I arrived in Asgard…Let’s just say I’m glad that you were away visiting Hel and Jor. Do you know what those Aesir were doing? Celebrating. When I arrived, a long dinner table was set up for a feast. There was food, wine, music, and dancing. No, I’m dead serious, that’s exactly what I walked into. They were so busy “making merry”, that they didn’t even notice my arrival until I approached my usual seat at the other end of the table and asked, “So what are we celebrating?”
The music and laughter stopped. All eyes turned to me, including Odin’s.
“So?” I asked again.
Odin answered, “We are raising our spirits, after grieving Balder’s death.”
My face contorted as I disguised my contempt and sat with my feet propped up on the table. “Oh. Isn’t that nice? Can’t have any of the Aesir feeling unhappy, you know.”
I waited for Odin to give some order resulting in my capture and punishment. But all he said was, “I cannot turn you away, brother, but know that you are not welcome.”
At first, I couldn’t believe my luck. I rose from my chair to leave, free from judgment, but looking on the scene, I remained. “You’re feasting and you’re releasing me?” I laughed in my disbelief. “What, was Balder an illegitimate child? Were you angry at him for befriending me?”
“What’re you talking about?” Freya asked.
“I’m just trying to understand this,” I said. “Usually, following the death of a loved one, there’s a more substantial grieving period. Usually, solemn reverence joins with a desire for justice, to understand the cause of death.” I scoffed. “But here in Asgard, we can’t be displeased. Instead of learning from the unpleasantness of life and giving its due respect, we toss it aside and hide it with parties. We can’t assume responsibility for our mistakes—we can’t even admit that we make mistakes.”
“We have no mistakes to admit,” Freya said.
I burst a louder laugh. “Are you kidding? Where do I begin? How about with you, m’dear?” I raised my voice. “Is it a wonder to anyone else why Freya’s husband Odur has been away for so long?”
She curled her hands into fists. “That’s enough, Loki.”
“It’s because she slept with five different dwarfs, one after the other, to earn that lovely necklace she’s wearing. Yes, she traded her fidelity, her marriage, and her self-respect for a shiny hunk of rock!”
She feigned alarm and said, “You are nothing but lies!”
“Do you want me to invite the dwarfs to this jubilant party to tell everyone the same thing? I’m sure they could give the story with far better details…”
She rose and slammed her palms against the table, shrieking, “That’s enough!”
“Loki…” Heimdall warned.
“What’s that, Heimdall?” I asked. “Do you have something to say?”
“Yes: Leave.”
“Oh, you think I should leave Asgard. You forget, Ram Boy, this is my home. Where’s your home, Heimdall? Not Asgard.”
He jumped from his seat and banged his fist on the table. “Loki!”
“Is that all you can say? Wouldn’t you like to tell everyone about your less-than-noble heritage?”
Now Thor chimed in to caution me: “Loki, just stop before—”
“Oh, you’re trying to help me out now? Well, I don’t need your help, lunkhead, not now. How about back at that alehouse, when you discovered that the center of everyone’s asinine game could talk and laugh? Did you help then?”
“I stopped throwing things at Balder from that day on!”
“But you sat and watched everyone else do it! Think, Thor: There’s not a single Aesir who doesn’t respect you and fear you. Are you telling me it never entered that boulder brain of yours to actually do something?”
“Loki…” He tried to protest, but came up short.
“No, you had a public image to protect. It’s never about the people around you—it’s always about you.”
“That’s not true!”
“Let’s ask your daughter. I’m sure you remember your daughter, don’t you? Just in case, I’ll refresh your memory. She was in love with a dwarf—an all-around nice guy. What did you do when he came to you like a gentleman and asked to marry your daughter?”
Thor clenched his teeth. “Shut up.”
“You had him turned to stone! And why? Because you thought he was too puny. Doesn’t matter that your daughter would have been happy; you didn’t want a dwarf for a son-in-law. Has your daughter forgiven you, Thor? You don’t know? Oh, that’s right! She ran away from home, and you haven’t seen her since.”
Thor stood and brandished his hammer, shouting, “I’ll cleave your head from your neck!”
I just shrugged. “You can’t take a head without taking the neck, nitwit.”
“You want to see me try?!”
“Enough!” Odin pounded his staff against the ground. “Loki, you will leave immediately.”
I didn’t move. I just smiled crookedly and asked, “Aren’t you curious to find out what I know about you, brother? You must be. Curiosity is what cost you an eye.” I looked around the table at the other Aesir. “What has our wise-eyed Odin told you all about his competition with the Jotun called Vafthrudnir?”
I saw him grow rigid with alarm, and he began rambling. “Loki, you are charged with the death of Balder…”
I wouldn’t be interrupted; I shouted over him: “He and the giant had a battle of wits, you see…”
His volume increased to cover mine: “…an enemy to the Aesir, to Asgard, to the world…”
“…Vafthrudnir matched him question by question with ease…”
“Funfeng!” he bellowed.
Funfeng was a servant tending the feast. Upon Odin’s order, he grabbed my arm and tried to subdue me. I swung around and punched him in the throat, and as soon as he backed off to catch his breath, I formed into an eagle to fly high above them all. “I see how it is now!” I declared as I hovered above them. “You care more about protecting your own egos than you do about protecting your families. And you managed to drag me down to that level, too. Well, no more.” With that, I turned and flew out of Asgard, calling behind me: “Enjoy your party!”
CHAPTER TWELVE: TO WHERE WE ARE NOW
Before, I had decided not to hide from the Aesir’s revenge. But after the feast, it became my most fervent goal. I intended to find you, tell you to bring our sons Vali and Narfi from Asgard, and we would hide from the Aesir wherever we could—even in the realm of the dead with Hel, if necessary. After all they had said and done, I didn’t want the Aesir to feel justified in their behavior by blaming me—I was determined not to let them win this battle. And at the same time, I would protect my family from them and their warped, hypocritical values.
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And, if all possible, I would find a way to free Fenrir.
As you well know, I never reached you. Almost as soon as I had left Asgard, Heimdall was right on my tail, riding his golden horse through the air. No amount of effort on my part could outrun that horse on land or air. My only escape was to dive into the forest, and for the few moments I was ahead of my pursuer, I formed into a salmon and plunked into the lake with the others. His horse wouldn’t set foot in the water, but that didn’t deter Heimdall. He was well prepared. From his saddlebag, he took out a net and cast it over the water. Were that any other net, I would have gotten away fine. But it was the net belonging to the sea goddess Ran—impossible to escape. The net ensnared me, and when he tugged it onto the shore, I had to form into myself again, or die of suffocation. Heimdall swung the net over his head, then threw it against the ground. My head struck the ground hard enough to make me dizzy. When my vision cleared again, Heimdall had me by my shirt collar, glaring murder.
“If Odin didn’t want you alive…” he seethed.
“…then you’d kill me with your breath, right?” I retorted.
Then he punched me in the jaw, felling me back into the net. He slung the net over his horse and towed me along back to Asgard—almost. We stopped at a field at the foot of the Bifrost Bridge, where everyone was assembled. I was only confused for only a second before I realized that it was against policy to cause death in Asgard. Clearly, they had something special in mind for me.
When Heimdall stood before the council of Aesir and poured me out of the net like a fisherman’s catch, my jaw bruised, everyone laughed.
“As always, I’m so glad I can amuse you,” I said dryly, testing the flexibility of my jaw.
The Aesir crowded around me for jeering purposes, until they parted ways for Odin. He announced, “Loki, you are found guilty of the death of my son Balder. You are a traitor to the Aesir, to your blood-brother, and to the vow you made.”