by Dima Zales
In the distance she hears sirens — maybe the car that drove off didn’t belong to an ass after all. Stranger starts to pull his hand away. “Don’t,” she says, turning to him and looking up. He is really tall, maybe 6’ 3” or 6’ 4”. She’s not afraid of him anymore. She presses his hand more tightly and wills him not to go.
His jaw goes tight. And then he says, “All right, I won’t.”
When the man had a gun on her, she was terrified. But now, after seeing the pictures and what she almost did not escape … Her whole body trembles. The sirens in the distance get louder. Clutching Stranger’s hand to her face, she begins to cry. She’s safe now, she knows it. The words, “I am so afraid,” are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t say them.
“I know. I know,” the Stranger says. And in the pit of Amy’s stomach she can feel it. He does understand. He does know.
Loki is about eleven years old. He is in Asgard. Odin is off on a campaign in the realm of the dwarfs and Loki’s snuck off to play with Hoenir — Odin discourages Loki’s visits to Hoenir’s hut when he is home. Odin claims he doesn’t want Loki disturbing Hoenir while he works. Hoenir never seems to be disturbed by Loki. In fact, Hoenir always seems happy to drop whatever he is doing when Loki comes about.
At the moment Loki and Hoenir are squatting in the grass outside Hoenir’s hut. The hut is in a meadow between a copse of trees so high they completely shield the rest of Asgard from view. The trees are a gift from Frigga, Odin’s wife and Loki’s adoptive mother. She calls Hoenir’s hut an eyesore.
Unlike all the other dwellings, buildings, and monuments in Asgard, Hoenir’s hut isn’t touched by any illusions that would make it conform to the current fashion for Egyptian architecture from the Old Kingdom. It looks as it always has. Made of rough wood, it leans slightly to one side. The chimney is made of natural stone and is crumbling slightly. The roof is thatch, and there are always little creatures peering out from the straw. Sometimes the creatures are recognizable, sometimes they are Hoenir’s own invention — squirrels with bird beaks and peacock tails, snakes with butterfly wings, and birds with cat faces. These creatures are real, unlike the illusions created by Loki and Odin.
The hut normally has a glow about it, golden white, the color of Hoenir’s magic. All magical beings have a color to their magic, but one can never see one’s own color. Loki’s been told, though, that his own magic is white, blue, orange and red — like a flame Mimir says. Or, as Odin says, because Loki is too fickle to pick a shade.
Loki isn’t thinking about magical color, or paying attention to the denizens of the thatch. He is peering over Hoenir’s shoulder and through a magnifying glass, a magical device Hoenir is holding over a small twig.
Hoenir, like Odin, doesn’t look particularly youthful. He is balding and is a little round around the waist. Next to Hoenir is the severed head of Mimir the giant, propped up on top of an overturned crate. Like Loki, Mimir is wearing a wide brimmed hat to shield him from the sun.
Since Hoenir is mute, Mimir speaks for him. “Now you see, Loki, the magnifying glass captures and concentrates sunlight and turns it into heat.”
Loki bends closer to the ground. He can see the concentrated beam of light Mimir speaks of. He waves his hand through the beam but only feels a disappointingly faint amount of warmth. The normal yellow golden glow of Hoenir’s magic isn’t present though, which means the glass needs none of Hoenir’s magic to work. That is something, Loki supposes.
“The way a magnifying glass captures, concentrates and transforms sunlight is very much like how magical creatures capture, concentrate and transform magic,” Mimir intones.
Loki nods at Mimir’s head. Loki knows about magic. Most men of Asgard don’t deign to toy with it, believing it makes them unmanly. But Odin and Hoenir are both powerful magicians, and Odin is king, and Hoenir is — Hoenir is Hoenir. Loki respects him as much as Odin. And he wants to be like them. At eleven he sees and feels magic everywhere, and is nearly as good at creating illusions as Odin. Loki gets the feeling that most people are uncomfortable with that, but Hoenir and Odin encourage his ability.
Looking back down to Hoenir and the magnifying glass, Loki asks, “May I try?”
“Ummmm … ” says Mimir. “That might not … ”
Hoenir hands Loki the magnifying glass.
Just as Loki takes the worn wooden handle in his grasp, he hears a loud shout, “Loki! Loki! Loki!!!”
Standing up in shock, Loki sends the concentrated beam of light dancing across the grass and the overturned crate Mimir sits on. In its wake, flames flare to life.
“Helllllppppppppp!” shouts Mimir.
Dropping the glass, Loki jumps over and pulls Mimir from the rising flames.
“Wow,” Loki says, momentarily forgetting the shouting that distracted him. “That magnifying glass has powerful magic!”
“Ummm … no … ” says Mimir. “Thank you, Loki. Turn me so that I face Hoenir.”
Loki does as he is bidden and instantly regrets it.
“Hoenir, you had to expect that would happen if Loki touched the glass!” Mimir says, his voice so accusatory Loki feels pain on Hoenir’s behalf.
Stamping out the flames, Hoenir just raises an eyebrow in Mimir’s direction.
“What? He should know!” says Mimir.
Hoenir shrugs. Mimir says, “Pfffttt to what Odin says.”
“Loki! Loki! Loki!!!” come the shouts again. Dropping Mimir on the ground, Loki spins around. “What was that?”
“What was what?” says Mimir, eyes staring at the sky.
“The voices calling my name!” says Loki. He doesn’t recognize them. They sound almost like a chorus.
From Mimir there is silence. Loki looks to Hoenir. A quiet look is passing between the man and the severed head on the ground.
Blinking, Mimir says, “I suppose we might expect you to hear them early … ”
“Hear what?” says Loki.
“Close your eyes, Loki,” Mimir says. “What do you see?”
Loki tilts his head. Magic. He smiles. Closing his eyes, he finds he does see something. “I see the village by the lake from our camping trip this spring.”
“Are you sure?” says Mimir.
How could he forget the place? Odin, Hoenir and Loki had gone camping on Earth. Their trip had been interrupted by some humans. It was the first time Loki had seen the creatures. In person they were smaller and more pathetic than he could have imagined. It seemed horribly cruel that Hoenir and Odin hadn’t gifted them with magic.
The humans had spoken to Hoenir and Odin at length, and then Loki had been sent home under the watchful eyes of Huginn and Munnin, Odin’s ravens. Nothing more had been said of the incident.
The scene behind Loki’s eyelids changes, and he gasps. He sees something more. “I see a man with skulls around his belt!” Loki swallows. The skulls are too small to belong to adults.
“Do the voices in your head … do they say anything else?”
Loki’s eyes open. “Yes, they say the giant’s body has knit itself together, and he has sent a messenger from his fortress. In the morrow he will come to claim his sacrifice.”
Hoenir’s jaw drops. Mimir’s eyes go wide. Swallowing, Mimir says, “Loki, the giant calls himself Cronus. I don’t think he is the Cronus; he was Greek, and Odin, well, Zeus, well … Odin sort of … ”
Loki’s brow knits together.
Licking his lips, Mimir says, “Anyway, Cronus is not Aesir or Jotunn, but something other. He has been terrorizing humans for generations. Last fall, Hoenir hid the boy that Cronus chose to be a sacrifice as wheat in a field — and Cronus found him. Odin disguised the boy as a swan, and Cronus found him yet again. Fortunately, Odin was able to kill Cronus.”
Loki nods. Of course, Hoenir wouldn’t have been able to kill Cronus. Loki’s never heard of Hoenir killing, or even hurting, anything.
Swallowing, Mimir says, “Or so we thought. If what your peasants say is true, Cronus was able to
reassemble himself and seeks to claim his sacrifice again.”
“Odin must come back!” Loki says, looking to the skies. He was sure he saw Huginn and Munnin, Odin’s raven messengers earlier. If he gets their attention they can alert Odin.
Mimir sighs. “Loki, Odin is busy saving multitudes of children. He cannot come back for just one.”
Loki swallows. In his head the voices rise again. “Loki! Loki! Save our son! Save our children!”
Loki starts walking to the Center and the World Gates. “I have to go.” He feels as though the voices are pulling him by a thread.
“You won’t be able to use your tricks of illusion against him!” Mimir says.
“I’ll think of something,” Loki says. He has to. The voices in his head …
He hears footsteps, and then Hoenir is at his side, Mimir in his hands. “You always do,” Mimir says.
Loki blinks and Mimir winks at him.
Loki, along with Hoenir and Mimir, arrives at the village well after nightfall.
Even though Loki is only eleven, he is nearly as tall as the tallest man in the village — though that man is broader in shoulder, and probably stronger. The humans smell less than pleasant. Their clothes look like rags. Many are missing teeth, and some have horrible scars. He is horrified by them, and at the same time, when they look at him their hope is palpable. It makes Loki feel older, wiser, and more powerful than he has ever felt before.
And the boy that is to be sacrificed, Jonah … he is so small, he hardly comes up past Loki’s waist. His eyes are so wide, frightened, innocent and trusting; Loki simply has to succeed.
Loki scans the horizon. As he does, the old man, who had talked to Odin and Hoenir last year, says, “We have tried to fight him, but our weapons bounce off, and he is terribly strong.”
Loki blinks. Loki can’t make weapons bounce off of him, but he knows it takes immense concentration. A surprise to break Cronus’ concentration is needed.
A boathouse on the bank of the lake catches Loki’s attention. He looks at the small stature of the humans and, to his own wonderment, he does think of something.
“Jonah,” Loki asks, “can you swim?”
The boy nods.
Standing taller and trying to look important, Loki begins to tell Jonah, Hoenir, Mimir, and the assembled villagers his plan. When he is done, Jonah is quaking with fear.
Loki bites his own lip. He is very nearly a child himself, and he can relate. Kneeling down, he puts a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. All the time you are with Cronus, I’ll be there with you.”
Next to him, in Hoenir’s arms, Mimir says, “Wait, now — ” but Hoenir slaps a hand over his mouth.
In the morning before Cronus arrives, Loki casts an illusion over Jonah so he looks like a fish and commands him to go swim in the lake. Loki knows that Cronus will eventually see through the illusion, but he needs to buy the village men some time to enact their part of the plan.
As soon as Jonah is in the water, Loki goes off to meet Cronus. Cronus isn’t tall for an Aesir, Vanir, or Jotunn, but he can see why the villagers think him a giant. Compared to the humans, he is immense. He has white hair and a face that is disturbingly pleasant, almost baby like in its roundness. It is in stark contrast to the belt of children’s skulls that hangs at his waist. The belt is terrifying, but what is more frightening is the blanket of magic that hovers over him.
Cronus doesn’t get angry when the villagers don’t bring Jonah forward. He just smiles. And then he says, “I think I will go fishing.” With that he turns around and walks to one of the boats on the shore. That was faster than Loki anticipated. Racing after Cronus he shouts, “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
“Of course, Little Giant,” Cronus says with a laugh.
When they get in the boat, Loki says, “Let me row for you, Sir.”
Narrowing his eyes, Cronus says, “Very well, Little Giant.”
Loki takes the oars and proceeds to row in the wrong direction … as slowly as he can.
Smiling again, Cronus says, “You’ll have to row faster than that, Little Giant, if you want your death to be an easy one.”
Loki sits bolt upright and nearly drops the oars.
Laughing, Cronus says, “Oh, come now, you’re a little bigger than I like, but you are very pretty. You don’t think I’d let you get away?”
Fear unravels in the pit of Loki’s stomach; it’s all he can do not to quake in his seat.
With a wave of his hand, the oars fly from Loki’s grasp and fall at the bottom of the boat. With another wave, Cronus sets the boat in motion again — this time in the right direction. Loki swallows. The sun is bright, and its cheerfulness feels like a mockery of Loki and Jonah’s plight.
Loki tries to confuse Cronus by illusioning schools of fish beneath the boat, and it does work somewhat. Cronus sees the fish, slows the boat, and drops the net that sat at the boat’s stern. But after a few empty hauls, he sees through Loki’s scheme. He weights the net down and dredges along the bottom.
By late morning he has Jonah in the net, and as soon as he lifts him into the boat, the illusion drops. With a gasp, Jonah runs to sit by Loki. Taking the smaller boy’s hand, Loki squeezes — not sure who he’s trying to reassure.
Cronus just smiles at them, waves a hand and the boat heads toward shore. As soon as the boat hits ground, Loki waves his hands and an illusionary wall of flame rises up in the middle of the small craft, a few hands lengths away from Cronus’ nose. Pulling Jonah from the boat, Loki yells, “Run!”
They tear as fast as they can through the shallow water, out of the bright sunlight, into the boat house. Cronus, in a frenzy, follows right behind. He is nearly on them when his head runs straight into the trap Loki had the men set for him, a spear at just the right height to hit a full-grown Aesir, Jotunn or Vanir squarely in the head.
Dazed, Cronus takes a step back. “Now!” screams Loki. From the shadows village men come forward with axes. One presses an axe in Loki’s own hand.
Loki has received a warrior’s training. And he has killed animals in the hunt. But now, when he needs it most, he seems unable to fight. He just stands frozen. The human men do not hesitate. They begin furiously hacking at Cronus’ limbs with their axes, and the boathouse fills with the thick smell of blood. Loki sees a leg separate at the knee. Almost instantly it reattaches. Loki’s eyes go wide and Cronus laughs.
“Think you’re clever, Little Giant? I disguised how quickly I can heal from your brother, Odin! But I don’t want you to get away.”
With a roar he heaves one of the villagers through a wall.
Loki’s mind uncoils. He doesn’t know if it is fear or bravery which sets him in motion. “Keep going!” Loki shouts to the remaining villagers, running to the wall and grabbing several iron nails.
A villager separates the other leg with an axe, and this time, Loki stabs a nail into the severed knee, preventing a clean bond of the severed flesh. Cronus gives a cry of rage and tries to bend down to remove the nail, but the humans sense his weakness and redouble their efforts. An arm falls away, and again Loki is there, stabbing another iron nail into the wound.
They can’t get to the head before all the limbs are severed and the joints secured from reattachment. Cronus is unaffected by loss of blood, and he manages to throw a few more villagers off of him with the power of his mind alone. But at last, when he can barely move, when he’s just a torso and a head, he looks at Loki and his eyes open wide. “You,” he says. And then he sneers, “Plan to flush me down the river like you did your brother?”
Loki feels like he’s been struck. He wants to demand to know what Cronus is talking about but then a villager’s axe falls down on Cronus’ neck and his eyes go blank.
Loki falls back gasping. He starts to shake; he’s not sure why. He’s safe now … safe …
3
Sheriff Ken McSpadden sits in his office, the driver’s license of Thor Odinson in his hand. It’s an Oklahoma driver’s license, j
ust like Amy Lewis’ license. The picture on this license is definitely the man who saved Amy Lewis by killing Ed Malson — a name that was soon to go down in serial killer history.
On his computer monitor Thor’s license information is displayed again. It took a while to pull the record up. They had some computer problems first.
Thor’s social security number checks out … but that’s a little weird, too. Like the license details, before Thor’s social security number cleared they had computer trouble, a flicker, an error … and then … everything was okay.
Thor’s got a clean record as far as the criminal databases are concerned. McSpadden tried Googling him, too — but all he got was a comic book character.
Leaning back in his chair, McSpadden taps the armrest in agitation. It’s not the comic book name, the computer glitches, or the girl’s story about a wolf distracting Malson that’s really putting him on edge. It’s Deputy Patches, the station cat.
Patches is a very fat cat. Sometimes the officers affectionately refer to her as a bowling ball. She’s famously lazy, but right now she is rubbing her head vigorously against the edge of his computer monitor. McSpadden puts the license down. Patches begins batting it with her paw, and then chewing its edge. Abruptly she hops down from the desk and begins chasing an imaginary mouse around the room.
McSpadden sighs. Patches hasn’t been this excited since they found that crazy carpet at the edge of the road. Darn thing kept rolling and unrolling, and then it would levitate a few inches off the ground before collapsing. Patches had scratched and rolled over every part of it until the thing was covered with fur.
Nix that. She had been more excited by the monkey paw. McSpadden’s dogs had found it while he’d been out coon hunting with the boys. The dogs had formed a circle around it and growled up a storm. McSpadden picked it up and put it in his pocket. It had been a long evening, he was hungry, and he found himself wishing for a pastrami sandwich. Not five minutes later he and the boys discovered the hiker — dead for days, a rotting pastrami sandwich miraculously not eaten by scavengers in his hands. That’s when McSpadden remembered reading a horror story back when he was a kid about a monkey’s paw that granted its bearer’s wishes — but at a price.