by Dima Zales
A few minutes later they are standing in the garage in front of the Subaru. Fenrir is dancing happily next to them. It is not a great city car, but Amy’s grandfather liked fishing and escaping the city on weekends. Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is is carrying a cooler. He is back in a tee shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag over one shoulder. He is looking at the late afternoon sky. “We’ll have a few hours of daylight left.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “This is crazy,” she mumbles, hitting the unlock button on the Subaru’s remote.
The SUV beeps, and Whoever-It-Is jumps. “Will it accept me since I am with you?”
Amy looks at Beatrice. Beatrice looks at Amy. Fenrir cocks her head at the man who may or may not be Thor.
“Yes,” says Amy. “It was just saying hello.”
“Hello, Car,” says Thor, leaning tentatively forward.
Amy’s eyes go wide, but she says nothing as she slips into the driver’s seat and hits the back door release. Thor puts the cooler and Beatrice’s bag in the rear, closes the back door, and helps Beatrice into the back seat. All very chivalrous. He also closes the garage door after Amy pulls forward. For a moment Amy considers hitting the accelerator and leaving him there in the alley, but she doesn’t. She’ll just play along, this will come to nothing, and maybe on the way home she can drop Thor off at a hospital where he can get professional help.
As Thor slips into the front seat, her foot goes to the non-existent clutch and her hand goes to the non-existent stick, but of course it’s an automatic. For a moment they go nowhere.
Thor shakes his head. “This new advanced transmission system seems more trouble than it’s worth.”
Amy decides to say nothing. She just puts her foot on the gas and heads to the gas station to fill up the tank — because Thor insists the journey is about 200 miles. And then she heads towards Peoria and Randolf streets, just a mile and a half away. It’s an area known for overpriced restaurants, not elves.
The building Thor directs her to is not a restaurant. It’s one of the ancient warehouse buildings just south of Restaurant Row. There is an old iron gate that is thrown open, and a dark dirty alley leading to a neglected looking courtyard.
“Go in here,” says Thor, pointing to the alley.
“Are we allowed to do this?” says Amy. It doesn’t look like a regular alley. There is an archway above the entrance. “I don’t think we should go in there. It looks like private property.”
“For Heaven’s sake, you can say you’re just turning around,” says Beatrice.
“Grandma?” says Amy.
“Go,” says Beatrice.
Amy pulls into the alley, just up to the iron gate, and Thor says. “Stop here!”
Opening the door, he turns to them. “In a moment, I’m going to get back in the car. As soon as I do, pull forward. It’s very difficult to keep the gate open.”
Thor gets out and goes a few feet more into the alley. For a moment he bows his head and stands motionless. Then he flings out his hands as though pulling back a curtain. He moves quickly to either side, raising his hand, as though pulling the imaginary curtain back a little further.
Behind her, Beatrice is leaning forward. “Maybe this is crazy, Amy, but it can’t hurt to indulge him, can it?”
Amy sighs and rubs her eyes. For the first time since this episode began, she feels genuinely sad for him. He did save her life. He’s obviously mentally ill, probably schizophrenic, and he can’t help that.
She takes a breath. She needs to get him to a doctor. They have treatments for schizophrenia now that are much better than in the past. He saved her life and she does owe him.
She blinks. She saw his armor, and the wolf, and the fire … maybe she needs drugs, too?
Ahead of her, Thor turns around quickly and runs back to the car. Opening the door he jumps into his seat. “Go now!” he shouts, shutting the door.
Amy sighs. “Here goes nothing,” she says pulling forward. She hits the gas gently and drives forward … and the front of the car disappears.
“What!” screams Amy, putting her foot on the brake. “Oh!” says Beatrice.
“Just go!” yells Thor.
And Amy isn’t sure why, but she hits the accelerator. Maybe it is her disbelief that propels her, because she certainly wouldn’t have driven forward if she actually believed her car had dematerialized in front of her.
As the car goes forward, the dashboard, and then the steering wheel, disappear under her hands, and Amy is alone, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow for the briefest of moments, her foot on the pedal of what would be the gas pedal if …
… and then her foot is on the gas pedal, behind her Beatrice is screaming, and next to her the man who still might be crazy is bracing his hands on the dash. “Stop!” he shouts.
Amy hits the brake.
Thor-Loki-Whoever, Beatrice, and Amy all take a deep breath. Fenrir whimpers.
“Have you recovered from your shock?” says Whoever-It-Is.
She had let the wheel go a little bit, and they might have run off the road. Amy turns her head to him. He’s wearing armor again.
Her hands are shaking. “No,” Amy says. “I really don’t think so.” Her eyes go to the window. Outside is a road, only a little wider than the alley — definitely not made for two way traffic. For some reason she isn’t surprised it is yellow brick. On either side of the road is a dense forest. But … she peers either way. On one side it is dense and foreboding. On the other side it is open and light, and she has the urge to crack open the cooler and declare it time for a picnic right away.
He takes a long breath and rubs his face. “How can I help you recover?”
Amy looks around. “Can I get out?”
Thor-Loki-Whoever looks at the sun. “I would say yes, but it would be best if we reach our destination before sunset.”
Amy looks towards the dark wood and then looks back to her grandmother. She is looking in the same direction.
“That side doesn’t look friendly, Loki,” says Beatrice.
“Exactly,” says Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is, his voice grim.
Amy puts her foot gently on the gas. “Loki,” she says. He really might be Loki.
“Exactly,” says the man sitting next to her, and this time she can hear the smirk in his voice.
Amy wills herself to breathe and keep her eyes on the road. Which is hard. She wants to stop and look. The trunks of the trees look lavender on the light side, the leaves almost blue. On the dark side, the tree trunks look so purple they are nearly black.
“There was color when we … crossed,” says Beatrice. “Like a rainbow — ”
“Yes,” says the man who actually might be Loki. “Time acts like a prism at the edge of the World Gates.”
“The rainbow bridge,” says Beatrice quietly.
Loki tilts his head. “I believe that humans did call it that once.”
“The light,” says Amy. “The light here is different.” Everything seems a little bit blue.
“The star that is this planet’s sun is much older. I believe you would call it a white dwarf,” says Loki.
“Oh,” says Amy. She blinks. “We’re on another planet.”
“Yes. In a whole other solar system,” says Loki.
“My, my,” says Beatrice. Amy looks in the rear-view mirror and sees her patting Fenrir on her lap. “My, my.”
For a few minutes, Amy drives in silence, too overwhelmed to speak. Beatrice must feel the same because she says nothing. After a while, Amy hazards a glance over at … Loki. His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes focused far ahead. He looks handsome, noble even.
“Can you drive faster?” he says. The question sounds genuine, not like he’s second guessing her driving skill.
Amy looks down at the speedometer. She’s going all of 20 miles per hour. “Can I expect any oncoming traffic?” The road is narrow and straight, and there are a few rolling hills that could be dangerous.
He closes his eyes. “There is none for at least 3
0 miles.”
Amy glances sideways at him. “How do you know?”
He tilts his head and then blinks. When he speaks he sounds slightly awed. “Astral projection. The concept has entered your vocabulary in the last sixty years. Even though you’re incapable of it.”
She’s on another planet, on a yellow brick road; astral projection doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. “Good enough,” she says and hits the accelerator.
For a few minutes, no one says anything. She glances and sees Loki’s eyes focused on the road, his mouth a thin line. She focuses directly ahead, her brain churning.
“Why so solemn?” says Loki suddenly with joviality that sounds a little forced. “From you, Amy, I would expect it, but from you, Beatrice — ”
He turns towards the back seat and then says softly. “She appears to be asleep.”
Amy peeks in rear view mirror. Beatrice is slumped slightly to the side, her head bent, her eyes closed. Amy looks at the clock in the car. “Yes,” she says. “She normally takes a nap this time of evening.”
“This isn’t exciting to her?” says Loki.
Amy tilts her head. “It is exciting, maybe so exciting she needs a mental break … and … ” Amy bites her lip. “People tend to nap a little bit more as they get older, and then not sleep so well at night. That doesn’t happen to … your people?”
“We don’t get old,” says Loki.
“Oh,” says Amy. She tilts her head. “Lucky.” She goes back to focusing on the road. Another planet … and Loki said something about time bending at the edges of the World Gate so —
Loki sighs loudly. “Come now, there will be plenty of time for silence when you’re dead, and I’m … ” He waves a hand dramatically, “Gagged with wire or stuck in a cave. Surely you have questions for me?”
Amy’s eyes widen. “Sorry, I’m just over here quietly revising everything I thought I knew about the universe.”
He chuckles. “What a novel way of expressing it.”
And then Amy has a thought. “Astral projection isn’t one of your powers in the myths, but it is in the movies and comic books.”
“I’m not sure I’m clear on how comic books and movies differ from myths,” says Loki. “Except in the medium.”
“Well, myths exist for the purpose of explaining the universe and imparting moral values,” says Amy.
“Don’t leave out entertainment,” says Loki.
“Okay, and entertainment,” says Amy. “And comic books and movies, well, the type of movie and comic book we’re discussing, are for entertainment.”
Out of the corner of her eye she can see Loki turning towards her, puzzlement on his face. “They don’t impart moral values or attempt to explain the universe?”
Amy is about to say no, but then she blinks. “Actually … I guess they do. But in a more round-a-bout way.”
“Myths aren’t exactly straightforward,” says Loki.
“Touché,” says Amy, scowling at the road in front of her.
“ … or completely accurate,” he mutters.
Amy smiles. “Yeah … no shape shifting. Right. Are you Thor’s brother? In the comic books you are.”
There is a snort. “No.”
Amy grips the steering wheel and narrows her eyes. “What about Sif’s hair.” It’s probably the most famous Loki myth. Sif was Thor’s wife. Loki cut off her hair as a prank and paid dearly for it, if she remembers right.
She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Snip! Snip!”
“Really?” Amy says, twisting her hands on the steering wheel. “Why?” It sounds positively childish.
“To prove that she was a lying, cheating whore.”
“How does cutting someone’s hair prove they’re a whore?” says Amy, gripping the wheel more tightly.
“It is the traditional punishment for female adulterers.”
Remembering the story as her grandfather used to read it to her, Amy scowls. “So you sneak up on her in a glade and cut off her hair and that is supposed to prove she is a ho?”
There is a moment where the only sound is the hum of the engine. And then Loki erupts into what can only be described as cackles. “I didn’t sneak up to her in a glade. I facked her!”
Amy’s eyes go wide. “Facked?”
“Am I getting the verb right? Fac, from the Latin, ‘to do’. Oh, wait, no that isn’t right. I fuck — ”
“I understood!” says Amy. She glances at him, her mouth agape.
He is blinking at her, smiling, looking very pleased. “It was really very selfless of me. No one really appreciates that. Everyone knew she was a whore, but no one else was brave enough to bring it to Thor’s attention. Well, except Odin, but he went about it in this convoluted way where he disguised himself as an old man … ” There is a snort. “ … like that was difficult. And told Thor to his face, but as a stranger. I delivered proof.”
She thought he was handsome? She thought he looked noble? Amy’s lips curl up in disgust. “Wasn’t Thor, like, your best friend?”
There is silence again. Amy glances over and immediately looks back at the road. She swears his eyes are glowing. “No,” says Loki, and the air seems to ripple with his voice. “No, not then. Not at all.”
Loki is close to 50 earth years old. He and Thor, not much younger, are waving goodbye to a group of happy human peasants who are jumping up and down and waving at them. The humans haven’t changed since Loki’s first visit here. They are small, dirty, smelly, and lacking many teeth. But their love is still palpable — which keeps Loki from sneering at them, or picking disdainfully at the troll guts sticking to his armor.
Said troll lies dead behind Thor and Loki. It was a particularly large creature, nearly as big as an Earth Asian elephant — they had a few in the gardens of Asgard when Indian clothing and architecture were in vogue.
“Heimdall! Bring us home!” Thor shouts to the sky.
There is a flash of light, a blur of color, and then Loki and Thor are facing Heimdall in the great circle of Midgard’s World Gate on Asgard.
“Four times!” roars Thor with a smile on his face. “Four times I’ve been to Midgard troll hunting and not once did I find a troll. The one time I bring Loki, this beast — ” he gestures with his hand towards the felled troll. “— this beast sets upon us immediately.”
“It is a fine trophy, my Lord,” says Heimdall, and his voice holds only reverence. Since Thor’s return to court, Odin’s bastard son has done nothing but make friends. Mostly because Baldur the beautiful, crown prince, son of Odin and Frigga, has taken a shine to his “big brother” and declared Thor “fitting to be in a court among Gods.” Baldur possesses a type of magical glamour that not only makes him beautiful, but allows none to gainsay anything he says. Even Frigga has decided she likes Thor now.
Before Loki knows what is happening, Thor swats Loki’s back with his hand. Stumbling forward, Loki barely manages to keep his feet. “From now on you come with me on every troll hunting expedition, Loki!”
“Lovely,” says Loki, scowling down at the troll innards on his armor. Not that he doubted it would be otherwise. Just before this trip Odin informed Loki that his job as retainer now was to accompany Thor on all his quests.
“We should tell Baldur!” Thor declares, pulling Loki by the arm away from the World Gate. “We’ll invite him to come with us on our next adventure.”
Loki’s stomach twists and he scowls. He detests Baldur. He detests that everyone thinks Baldur is beautiful, brave and wise. He detests that they think Baldur is good. And he detests that Mimir has suggested that the reason for this seething dislike is jealousy … and that there may be some truth to that.
Loki would never be accused of being ugly, but his ‘fair countenance’ is almost an insult in itself. He doesn’t look as roughly hewn or as square in the jaw as a typical Aesir, or even Jotunn. He’s only of average height, and he’s too thin, despite the fact that only Thor’s appetite is a match for hi
s.
And Loki’s not considered brave. He’s simply not much good at feigning battle lust or interest in killing trolls. If he wasn’t ordered by Odin to watch after Thor, he would have spent the last few days in the library — he’d really like to master astral projection.
Finally, absolutely no one would consider Loki wise. He has too much fun with his magic. Loki knows he shouldn’t take such delight in making himself appear like a Valkyrie upon occasion, or pulling the occasional flower from Odin’s nose, but he just can’t help himself.
Looking for any way to avoid a run in with Baldur, Loki says, “Shouldn’t you go home to see your wife Sif first?”
“No, no, no,” says Thor, walking briskly towards the palace, now under the illusion of Roman Golden Age architecture. “She’ll understand. She is a fine wife, Loki, and doesn’t begrudge me a bit my adventures and traveling — this is just a bit more of the journey.”
Loki raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t begrudge it probably because it leaves more time for her whoring. Sif is so easy with her affections, even Loki is uninterested in her.
Thor smiles and looks sideways at Loki. “But perhaps you’d just like to see your Lady Sigyn?”
“She is not my lady,” says Loki , feeling heat rise to his face. Are his affections so obvious? Sigyn left the court for a few decades to live in the realm of Alfheim — the stay has given her an interesting perspective on a foreign culture and on Asgard’s own. She is a rather fascinating companion for conversation. And she still seems to fancy Loki, maybe because Loki occasionally protected her with his magic when they were children, or maybe because she hasn’t been steeped in court gossip — Loki does have a bit of a reputation. It is pathetic, but her genuine warmth towards him makes Loki go absolutely soft inside. And although he protests her decline of his physical advances he actually rather respects her for it. How many times after a physical conquest has he decided the prize was too dull to be worth keeping? Even Freyja for all her beauty and charm was rather a bore after a while.
Loki blinks. Perhaps Sigyn does know his reputation.
“She hasn’t hooked you yet then!” yells Thor, slapping Loki’s back again jovially. Loki tries not to wince; it takes effort. “But she will!”