Three huge jumps brought Loki and Colbey across the meadow in an instant. Then, the black stallion raced recklessly through the forest, as if oblivious to the low-hanging branches and thorny copses. Colbey ducked flat to the animal’s neck, its mane tangling with his hair, its musk a constant, sweet odor in his nostrils. Colbey clung; for the moment he could do little else. Yet, he wondered what the lord of chaos and mischief wanted with him. And he wondered if he would soon fight another god.
* * *
Freya had grown familiar with the aristiri shape her robe of feathers granted, though it stole her human voice and her hands. She continued to wage her frenzied war against Thor’s face, now more concerned with dodging than distraction. As much as she hated the thought of owing gratitude to Loki, he had come when she needed him and the others had not. Mostly, she guessed, curiosity and his own madman’s plans kept him watching her every movement and decision with the intensity of the hawk form she took. She dodged another roundhouse punch, gracefully slipping beneath the stonelike fists, listening for the last fading echoes of Loki’s hoofbeats.
Thor’s other hand made a sudden slash that caught her across the side of the body. She plummeted, pain stealing all grace and maneuverability. Her light hawk’s body slammed against the ground, rolling and tumbling in a heap of feathers and talons. Breath would not come. She opened her beak wide, gasping for the air her battered lungs would not admit. For an instant, she took her attention from the battle to breathe. Mjollnir raced toward her, handle gripped in Thor’s fist.
Freya’s bruised side hampered her dodge. Her empty lungs would not allow song or warning. Desperately, she wriggled free of the feathered cloak that gave her aristiri form, her goddess legs emerging from the collection of muddy feathers.
Thor pulled his blow, the hammer digging a crater into the earth beside her. Leaving the weapon entrenched, he approached hesitantly. “Freya?”
A trickle of air wheezed into her lungs. She struggled to shed the remainder of the cloak, exposing a dress studded with gold brooches and sewn through with metallic threads.
“Freya?” Thor repeated, still uncertain. The single word held a myriad of questions, from her welfare to her motives for interfering with his battle.
The breaths came more easily now. Freya freed herself fully from the feathered cloak. She clambered to her feet. Thor’s blows ached through her, yet she showed no weakness. She tossed the costume over one shoulder and met Thor’s gaze. Her pale blue eyes flashed with rage, and the many gold adornments seemed to wink and sparkle in echo. The NECKLACE of the Brisings writhed. Her breasts rose and fell with every soothing breath.
“Are you well?” Thor asked, genuinely concerned.
Finally, Freya gathered enough air to speak. “Have you taken leave of your sense?” She kept the last word singular to imply Thor had never had more than one thought from the beginning. “Just your presence here could cause the destruction.”
For all the insult Freya had given his intelligence, Thor caught the discrepancy immediately. “You’re here.”
“Yes. But I have a grasp of the concept called subtlety. I’ve interfered as little as necessary, not huffed about molding meadows into hills.”
Thor glanced about, as if noticing the valleys his hammer had bashed through the clover for the first time. “What difference the contour of this meadow when the fire lord kills Frey and sets all of man’s world to flame. The others may cry over their fate, but I won’t sit idle while gods and our creations die.”
Blood coated Thor’s arm from shoulder to wrist, splattered by his movement. Also noting the gash on his leg, Freya drew closer. “Sit. Let me tend those wounds while we talk.”
“Bah! Scratches, nothing more.” Despite the dismissal, Thor sat obediently, his bulk quaking the meadow ground. “For all this subtlety you claim, you attacked me outwardly enough.”
Freya drew bandages from her pockets, the same that she used while collecting souls from the battleground. By right, she had first claim to the honored dead, even over Odin’s Valkyries. “With you, subtlety is unnecessary. And useless besides.” She wrapped the stab, applying pressure as the bandage unwound. “Well-landed attacks. He has all the weapon skill of his father.”
“Or the luck.” Thor remained still while she worked, but his gaze scanned the forest. “One blow from Mjollnir would have smashed him. Kyndig must die.”
Tying the bandage, Freya set to work on Thor’s leg, twisting lines of cloth over the opened leather and skin. “I don’t believe that to be the case.”
“I think—” Thor started.
“I don’t believe that to be the case either.” Freya looked up from her work long enough to glare. “Odin created the system of Wizards to keep us from interfering directly on the world of man. You know our tiniest actions here have unpredictable and enormous repercussions.” She knotted the bandage, annoyance causing her to draw it tighter than necessary.
Thor tested the movement of his leg. “Worse than the Ragnarok itself? I think not.”
“In this case, so.” Freya met his gaze to deliver the coup de grace. “Nothing could awaken chaos quicker than gods killing gods, and no crime is more heinous than a god slaying kin. Kyndig is your son.”
“My son?” Thor snorted. “Nonsense.”
“Seventy-eight years ago, you lay with a mortal woman. A Renshai named Asnete. And Loki saw you.”
Thor swept his legs into a crouch. “A sword mistress of unequaled grace and skill. How could I help wanting her?”
Freya smiled. “The way of the gods. To know love at a glance and need it as swiftly. It is to be my brother’s downfall.” She referred to Frey’s trading of his magic sword for the hand of his giantess wife. He had seen her only once yet pined for her after and, now, centuries later, remained wholly faithful. “And perhaps my own.” She fingered the necklace, recalling how she had slept with dwarves for love of the gold. Yet her words went far deeper than Thor could guess. It had taken only a glimpse of Colbey for her to know they belonged together, no matter his destiny.
As usual, Thor cut through history and the Norns’ promises for the future. “Asnete died in her very next battle. She bore no son.”
“She carried your son before her death. I knew that and so did Sif. It is my way to know unions, and Loki’s joy of spreading trouble brought the news to your wife as well.”
Thor shook his head, still missing the connection between Colbey’s birth and his illicit coupling. His manner tightened. Apparently he was nervous about the penalties that should have come with his wife’s knowledge of his action, yet had not.
“You know how Sif is about fidelity and marriage. She bore neither of your children, but she loves them for being yours. When I discovered Asnete dying on the battlefield, Sif begged me to help her make a switch. Ranilda Battlemad gave birth to Colbey, but the blood that flows through him is Asnete’s and yours.”
“Are you certain?”
“I couldn’t be more certain. And the Tasks of Wizardry confirmed the truth I already knew.”
Thor stared, face darkening, as if about to accuse Freya of lies. “My son? My son will cause the Ragnarok? The Norns are crueler than even I would have guessed.”
Freya soothed as much as she could. “It remains to be seen whether or not he causes the destruction. If you kill your own child, you will bring chaos upon us instantly with all its power.”
Thor twisted a loose corner of his damaged leggings. “What now? I can’t just let the Ragnarok happen. Naming him my son only increases my responsibility. And my need to make things right.”
“No.” Freya rose. With Thor crouched, she met his gaze at eye level. “Leave the Thunder Child to me. As much as Sif, I have watched him; there’s more here than even we understand. You go home and rejoice in having the most loyal and understanding wife in existence. Had we been mortal, and I your wife, I would have killed you and the child both. Yet though I wouldn’t share Sif’s gentle, forgiving nature, it has its place. G
o.”
So saying, Freya tossed the cloak back over her frame. In aristiri form, she floated toward the forest to find her charge.
* * *
At length, the black stallion switched from a random track through the tangled depths of forest to roadway. Even here, brush clogged the edges, curling into the pathway and partially crushed by the passage of hoof and cart. Overhead, branches meshed, turning the road into a long, dark tunnel that seemed to suit Loki well, a shadow-figure in every sense, darting over tarry dirt and through the closed passageway. Clinging became easier. Colbey managed to sheathe his sword, the horse’s wind-blown mane stinging his face. Despite the speed, he measured the distance to the ground. As much as he enjoyed horseback combat, it made little sense when the enemy was the horse itself.
Well into an unfamiliar part of the forest, Loki’s pace slowed. Colbey leapt free. He hit the ground rolling, veered from a sapling in his path, and came up in a ready crouch. The sword remained sheathed, but he could draw and cut before most warriors could think to do either. The sheath on his left hip flopped, conspicuously empty. Though more valuable and powerful, the staff he missed less. He had bound it securely with his gear, lost again for the antics of a horse. But, for now, the presence and wrath of gods took precedence.
The horse skidded to a sudden stop, hooves plowing through fertile soil and leaf mulch. The instant it turned, a flash lit the forest. This time, Colbey managed to shut his lids more quickly. Even so, colored bands striped his vision as he looked upon the same man-shaped being who had confronted him in the meadow. Loki headed toward him.
With a leisurely deliberateness, Colbey drew his sword, more for warning than threat. “Stand where you are.”
Loki went still, though not a trace of fear marred his stance. Clearly he had stopped from indulgence rather than concern. “Forgive the rough ride. I knew you wouldn’t willingly leave a battle. I had little choice but to force retreat.”
Colbey guessed Loki’s stake in the matter, and it enraged him. “First, I’ve fought my own battles since I could walk. I don’t need men, birds, or gods rushing in to rescue me. Whatever you think of my ability, I might have won that battle. If not, I would joyfully have died on Thor’s hammer.”
“Either would have been a tragedy.” Loki fixed his gaze on Colbey.
Colbey remained in place, his stance a perfect combination of offense and defense. “Save your lies, Lord of Chaos. Your intentions are easily read. You believe Thor would have slain me and you would have lost the one who champions your cause. But you’re wrong on both counts. Go away.”
Loki laughed then, the sound carrying bitterness and irony rather than joy. “For one bothered by undeserved prejudice, you certainly are quick to inflict the same on another.”
Colbey could not help but consider the words. Yet the conclusion seemed obvious. “It’s no secret what you are. Nor the death and destruction you work toward.”
Loki spat, clearly disappointed as well as insulted. “This from a Renshai. And a Wizard who many have described the same way.”
Colbey doubted the comparison. “So you deny backing chaos? You won’t be the one who sets Ragnarok in motion?”
“I take both of those responsibilities very seriously.”
“You don’t deny them.”
“Certainly not.”
Colbey drove his point home. “If I had killed Thor, it would have strengthened your side in the Ragnarok, the side of chaos.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore, you had to believe I would lose the battle. You kidnapped me from the fight, which means you didn’t want me to die. I can only presume you think I work for your cause. There, you’re wrong.”
Loki’s eyes assumed their more natural green, highlights dancing through irises and pupils. “Your mistake, Skilled One, is presuming I want to strengthen my cause.”
Colbey froze, brow furrowing in thought. If Loki spoke truth, all of his assessment of the Shape Changer’s motives came crashing down. “Why wouldn’t someone want to strengthen his own cause?”
Loki smiled. “When he’s placed in the position of championing a cause the world needs only in moderation.”
Chills spiraled through Colbey, but he managed to suppress them. Loki’s words sounded eerily close to those he had used to explain himself to the elfin captain. He tried to sort the situation from Loki’s viewpoint, knowing the effort was doomed to failure. Loki had millennia of experiences and situations to call upon.
Loki aided Colbey’s effort. “When Odin and his brothers created the world, he didn’t trust mankind with chaos. He gave you a world wholly at law, banishing chaos to a distant plane. Yet, you and I and a few others realize that the world cannot grow without the knowledge and artistry that is chaos. Form without plan or ingenuity moves nowhere. With time, it stagnates and decays.” Loki folded his arms across his chest. A beam of sunlight forced its way through the twining network of branches, sparking white accents through his yellow hair. “Odin knew, of course. He tried to interject small doses of chaos here and there, but his power proved too great. A god’s drinking mug is a man’s ocean. So Odin sought lesser gods to represent the chaos-forces mankind needed: Bragi of poetry, Aegir who makes the oceans unpredictable, and me.”
“Fire,” Colbey finished for the god. “Loki” translated to this in the Northern tongue. “Glorious, grand, beautiful. Necessary for security and warmth, when controlled. Searing to the touch. Freed, it becomes mischievous, evil, and devastating. As unpredictable as chaos itself.”
Loki shrugged, passing off insult and compliment alike. “There’s logic even to fire. Remember, I was born of giants, not gods. Odin brought me among the others as his blood brother. Often, his actions seem frivolous or reckless, but he has more wisdom than the rest of us together. Odin does nothing without method.”
Colbey followed the explanation, but it seemed to have deviated far from the point. “Interesting. And well worth contemplating. But what does it have to do with you not wanting Thor or me to die?”
“Chaos is necessary. Even some of the men and gods who realize it refuse to be the ones who champion it. What we truly need is balance. But, I’m one god working alone against many. If I just stood behind symmetry, I would accomplish nothing. When so many back law, the only chance for balance is to embrace chaos.”
Colbey understood the concept; he did not agree with it. “I stand for balance.”
Loki’s shoulders rose and fell again, as if to express the futility of it all. “You can do that because I’m backing chaos on a grander scale. Whether anything you do on man’s world matters remains to be seen.”
“So you ‘rescued’ me from Thor because . . .” Colbey trailed off, hoping Loki would finish the sentence. The gods seemed even more adept than the Cardinal Wizards at dodging direct points.
Loki obliged. “. . . if Thor killed you, it would bring the Ragnarok early and possibly change the course of events. If you killed Thor, it would surely skew the destruction in chaos’ favor.” He sighed, hands dropping to his side as he tried to explain destiny to one who had defied prophecies and played a huge role in man’s history. “As much as I support chaos, the battles of Ragnarok have plan and reason few understand. Thor must live now, so he can kill the Midgard Serpent later.”
Colbey followed the weaving course of Loki’s clarification, now seized by skepticism. “You want Thor to kill your son? I don’t believe that.”
“Once the Ragnarok closes, and the opponents of law and chaos die, the gods of moderation will remain. Extremes such as the Serpent and the Wolf will have served their purpose. The same is true for Thor, Odin, Tyr and, of course, myself.”
Colbey studied the Lord of Chaos, seeing him in a different light than legend had described. “That’s always seemed the flaw in the gods’ stories to me, you know. Why would Loki set such destruction in motion knowing it would end his own existence as well?”
“Life,” Loki corrected. “Not existence. Those gods killed wil
l continue in concept.” His eyes flashed orange. “Thor as the storms and thunder. Tyr as the honor men follow and the oaths they swear. Aegir as the tides. And me.” Loki grinned, an expression as evil as any Colbey had seen in the many renditions of the god. “As fire, of course. At least I get to leave in a bold display of glory. Surtr, the king of the fire giants, will set the worlds ablaze to scorch all things living and their works.”
Images wafted from the Shape Changer, visions of frantic, violent blazes devouring the world. Fires of every color shot toward the heavens, all beneath it a uniform black. The odors accompanying the visions brought memories of bloody bodies set to pyre, the death dance of the flames grand testament to the glory of another soul sent to Valhalla. But now, the aroma of roasting flesh and clothing nauseated Colbey, and the creeping black emptiness nearly drove him to madness. There, Loki’s cause turned from concern for the world’s destiny to a need for a personal, glorious finish. There, Colbey believed, Loki fell victim to his own chaos. And Colbey’s own long-held need to find Valhalla against all odds fell into question as well.
Colbey shook off the ugliness that had come to him as Loki’s thoughts. He spoke in a whisper, his voice still seeming too loud in the wake of Loki’s grandeur. “I understand the need for the death of extremes. But why mankind?”
The crazed look in Loki’s eyes faded, and with them the unnatural color. Once again, the troublesome eyes assumed their usual green. “Because Ragnarok is a beginning as well as an end. New gods. New order. New causes. Men do not adapt to such. It is easier to start over than to separate mortal followers of extremes, especially when their normal lives are only measured in decades.”
Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Page 45