“Did you not tell her the other day that the scars on your mouth came from getting into a fight with the squirrel that climbs Yggdrasil?” Angrboda called back, and Jormungand butted her chin with the flat of his head. She generally took this to mean that he was amused.
“It was a verbal fight at first,” Loki told Hel now, for she was giving him a suspicious look that Angrboda could see from where she stood. “And then he wanted me to stop talking, so he attacked my mouth with his squirrelly little claws.” He curled his own fingers into claws and tickled her, and she giggled and yelled and rolled away from him.
Jormungand disentangled himself from his mother and slithered over to join in, which made Fenrir jump down from his perch atop the cave’s mouth to pounce on his father—and soon the four of them dissolved into one writhing, shrieking mass. As charming as Angrboda found this, she called to them that dinner was ready, and they ignored her. She tried twice more with the same result. So she picked up a pail of water, strode out of the cave, and dumped it on them.
“Dinner is ready,” she said calmly, and tossed the bucket aside. “Are you all right, Hel?”
Her daughter nodded breathlessly. For a moment Angrboda caught a hint of blue in Hel’s lips and fingertips, but it went away as the girl calmed down. Hel herself hardly seemed worried about this condition, but Angrboda couldn’t help but fret. It was her motherly instinct, she supposed.
“Fenrir, shake yourself out before you come inside. You, too, Loki,” she said to them. But of course Loki waited until he was right in front of her to shake his wet hair in her face, and she whacked him with a spoon. “Sometimes I feel as though I’m raising four children instead of three.”
“We could make it four.” Loki grabbed her hips and held her against him.
At the table, Hel giggled and spooned stew into her mouth. Fenrir and Jormungand were present on either side of their sister, but as they had already eaten their fill of their own catches earlier on, neither was eating stew—nor did they have any desire to eat anything their mother had cooked, so Angrboda set out a plate piled high with chunks of raw meat for them as a snack.
Neither of her sons possessed anything even remotely resembling table manners. Often it was less sickening to eat without them, but she didn’t want them to feel left out.
“Only if you’re the one to birth it this time,” Angrboda told Loki lightly. “Perhaps then it won’t be a quivering blob with eyes.”
“Or perhaps it will, and I shall have to carry it around in a sling.”
“You still carry Hel around in a sling.”
“That’s because she likes me best. Only maybe this blob will become so big that it will eat all the Nine Worlds, and that will be the end of us.”
“Are you really implying that the worlds will end with one of our children devouring everything?” A shiver went up her spine and she pushed the thought of her vision down once again. She knew better than to remind him of what she’d seen that night, and when she’d tried to tell him—well, she didn’t think she could bear being written off again, so she kept her mouth shut.
“I still think we should get them to devour people. I think Hel would be especially good at it, even with her little mouth. Look how she’s devouring her dinner.”
Angrboda pushed him down onto the bench. “Why don’t you make your big mouth useful for something other than talking and eat your dinner?”
“My mouth is useful for lots of things other than—”
“And how many times have I asked you not to say lewd things in front of the children?” she added, because he still had her by the hips and she could sense a crude remark coming on.
“I suppose you just know me too well,” he said, releasing her, then turned around and proceeded to make faces at Hel, who giggled so madly that she almost choked on her food.
Annoyed though she was, Angrboda would hold good days like this in her heart forever and cherish them, for something told her they would be few and fleeting indeed.
* * *
• • •
Soon after that day, Gerd showed up at her door one morning with a basket of loose-spun, undyed wool and a look of determination Angrboda had never seen before.
“I’ve come to spend some time with Hel,” Gerd said matter-of-factly. “You say she’s grown bored of gardening, and she can’t do much but wander around lest she overexert herself. So I’ve come to teach her a craft to keep her hands busy. I’ve seen her worry that wolf toy of hers—soon there will be nothing left of it.”
Angrboda stood from her gardening and tipped her straw hat backward so she could see Gerd more clearly. Then she looked to Hel—who sat miserably drawing in the mud with a stick near the tree line while her brothers were out hunting—and back to Gerd. The witch certainly knew how to sew and weave, but she cared little for it.
“By all means,” Angrboda said at last. “What do you wish to teach her?”
Gerd just grinned. “Can I drag a bench outside?”
Angrboda nodded and Gerd did so, then beckoned for Hel to come over and sit beside her. The girl trudged across the clearing and plopped down on the bench next to Gerd. Angrboda went back to weeding her garden but kept a keen ear on the conversation.
“It’s called nalbinding,” said Gerd, extracting something from her bag: a pair of socks. They seemed to be made from the same loose-spun woolen yarn Gerd had in her basket, and one sock was half-finished. The yarn attached to it was threaded through the largest needle Angrboda had ever seen, half the width of her finger and carved out of smooth wood.
“Weird,” Hel said, eyeing the socks. “Why are they so big? Are they for an ogre?”
“I’ll soak them in water and rub them together to make the fibers tighten up, so water can hardly get in, and then they’ll be person-sized. See?” She reached into her bag and pulled out a mitten made in the same way, but the stitching seemed more condensed—solid, even. Angrboda was impressed.
Hel took the mitten from Gerd and ran her small fingers over it, curious. “It feels interesting. I like it.”
“It’s very easy,” said Gerd with a smile. “See, you just take this piece of yarn here, and loop this around your finger, and . . .”
By the time Gerd left that afternoon, Hel had taken to the craft so fervently that her hands had not stilled since the moment Gerd handed over the needle and wool. Angrboda thanked Gerd profusely even though it seemed a little soon to be doing so—Hel had not stopped working even to eat and could not even be tempted by oatcakes and honey.
“That’s quite a fine square you’ve created. What is it supposed to be?” Angrboda asked later on in the evening, when she was trying to usher them all to bed. “It’s time to sleep.”
“I’m just practicing, Mama,” Hel said. Only reluctantly did she allow her needle and yarn to be set aside for the night. Although Angrboda was grateful that Gerd had given Hel something to do, she quite feared that her friend had just given her daughter a new obsession.
* * *
• • •
There came a day in late summer, when Loki had been gone for nearly a week, when Gerd came by to check on how Hel’s crafting was going. Angrboda invited her to stay the night so she did not need to hike home in the dark. Gerd gladly agreed to this, as she was wary of walking Ironwood alone in the daylight, let alone after sunset.
Angrboda nodded in understanding, though Ironwood had been her home for many years and to her it was safer than anywhere else in the Nine Worlds. She was secretly glad that outsiders still found it frightening—it meant they would continue to leave her in peace. That was all she could ask for.
“I’ve not seen Skadi for two weeks now,” Angrboda told her. It was early evening and the women sat at the table as Fenrir and Jormungand tussled out in the clearing, and Hel sat on the grass working on her nalbinding while it was still daylight. “I’m nearly out of ale.”
&
nbsp; “The word in Jotunheim is that something is going on in Asgard, or so my parents have overheard. Perhaps she was called to council—she is numbered among the gods now, after all,” Gerd said. “You could ask your husband about it when he returns.”
“Yes, but I want to know what’s really happening. Which means I shall just wait to ask Skadi instead of him.” I’ll probably see her sooner, anyway.
“Why is that?” Gerd asked.
Because I never know when he’s telling me the whole truth, Angrboda thought, but she said, “He tends to add a flourish to the stories he tells. Skadi is far more straightforward in her narrations.”
“By ‘straightforward’ do you mean ‘boring’?”
“No, I mean straightforward. Skadi’s stories aren’t boring. I listened to them for an entire winter and was never bored.”
“Hers are all about shooting things and cutting people. They’re men’s stories.”
“So what are women’s stories, then?”
“Perhaps the kind your husband tells. Sweeping gestures and all.” Gerd thought for a moment, and before Angrboda could argue that stories need not necessarily be gendered, Gerd went on. “Does it trouble you that he tells women’s stories? He is quite handsome, if I may say so, but from the one time I met him and from what Skadi has told me . . . he seems a bit off.”
Angrboda laughed. “That’s an understatement.”
“His handsomeness, or his peculiarity?”
“Both.”
“Why do you say that?”
At that moment Angrboda heard Fenrir’s excited barking and Hel’s gleeful shriek, and a few seconds later Loki appeared at the door, carrying Hel in one arm as she clutched her ball of yarn, with Jormungand wrapped around his torso and Fenrir nipping excitedly at his heels.
Loki was clothed in a dress and a veil, and Angrboda guffawed into her bowl at the sight. When she looked at Gerd, she saw the girl’s mouth hanging open and her stew dripping out of it and onto the table.
“That is why I say that,” Angrboda said to her.
“Say what?” Loki asked innocently; he put Hel down and stepped out of Jormungand, who slithered away. Hel crawled onto the bed and began nalbinding again.
“We were discussing your manhood,” Angrboda said, straight-faced, and Gerd spit out what little stew was left in her mouth.
Loki looked down at his dress and then back to Angrboda. “As in my masculinity, or my parts?”
“We were talking about the first, but we probably would have ended up on the topic of the other sooner or later,” Angrboda replied, and Gerd flushed bright red and took to patting Fenrir and not looking at them.
“Why are you always so keen to talk about what’s in my pants?” Loki asked. “Or under my dress, at the moment.”
Angrboda shrugged. “It’s relevant to my interests, you being the father of my children and all. Why are you dressed like that?”
“You know, that should have been the first thing out of your mouth: voicing your concern that your husband was in a dress. Why are you not surprised?”
“I’m neither surprised nor concerned. I suspect that this is just another day in your life, my love. Although as I said, I’m curious to know the story behind it.”
“Do you two always talk to each other in such a manner?” Gerd wondered aloud.
“Absolutely,” said Angrboda.
Loki gave Gerd the sweetest look he could. “Would you mind keeping an eye on these three while I tell my wife a story?”
“I don’t mind at all,” Gerd said quickly, for she seemed eager to no longer be part of this conversation.
“We won’t be gone long,” Angrboda said, kissing her children goodbye. Hel didn’t react to her one bit, so focused was she on her nalbinding, but Jormungand flicked his tongue at her affectionately.
Gerd was busy petting Fenrir’s belly. “I mean to help Hel with her crafting, so take your time,” she said, and they left, fully intending to do just that.
* * *
• • •
Loki led Angrboda off into the darkening woods, and they ended up by the small stream, which had been nearly flooded by the summer rains. They walked so far down that they were past the boundaries of Angrboda’s protective charms, but as it was just the two of them without the children, she told herself it was all right. She cared only for the feel of her hand in his.
As she was about to ask him about the dress again, he pulled it off and cast it aside, kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in an age, and took her there on the grassy bank soon after. When they were done, sweating and panting under the full summer moon, Angrboda sat up and asked, “So, as to the matter of you in a dress—”
“Oh!” Loki sat up as well and scooted over to sit on a large rock looming over the stream. Angrboda sat down beside him, and he began. “So, one morning, Thor woke up and couldn’t find his hammer, Mjolnir.”
“How could he possibly misplace such an item?”
“Thor isn’t exactly the sharpest ax in the armory. Anyway, he couldn’t find it, and he came to me first for some reason—probably thinking I’d taken it.”
“Had you?”
“For once, I hadn’t! So, anyway, he came to me and we decided the giants must have done it.”
Angrboda’s brows knitted. “That was your first logical conclusion? Our people?”
Loki waved his hand. “No, no, see, Thor’s hammer is used almost exclusively for giant slaying. And he doesn’t discriminate, either.”
Angrboda remained silent, staring down at the water below, and decided to dangle her feet in it.
“So I said I should probably find out who took it,” Loki went on, putting his feet in the water as well. “So we went to Freyja and asked for her falcon cloak—”
“Why in the worlds did you need Freyja’s falcon cloak when you can turn yourself into a falcon at will?”
Loki opened his mouth to reply, then paused and shrugged.
“Because you wanted to make things difficult for her?” Angrboda ventured.
“Because I wanted to make things difficult for her,” he confirmed with relish, “since I know how much Freyja hates loaning it out. But she gave me the cloak because Thor asked her. So, I flew to Jotunheim and found this giant named Thrym, who said that he’d stolen Thor’s hammer—who even knows how?—and would give it back if he got Freyja for a wife. I went back and Thor told me not to change out of the cloak, because as soon as I sat down, I would forget everything—”
“Very true, my love.”
“It is not.”
“Oh, really? Do you remember what you had for breakfast this morning?”
“I had a very exciting day.”
“Just as I thought.”
Loki made a face at her and continued. “So, I told them Thrym had the hammer and would trade it for Freyja, and Freyja said no. Which was very inconvenient for the gods. So they held a council to decide what to do. And then Heimdall—the watchman, my archnemesis—”
Angrboda raised her eyebrows. “You have an archnemesis?”
“He sees everything, Boda. He’s like what would happen if Odin decided to sit in his chair constantly and see all the Nine Worlds, all the time. That’s Heimdall. He makes it really hard to sneak around Asgard. Which I do, often. So, anyway, he suggested that we dress Thor up as Freyja and send him to marry Thrym.” Loki sighed wistfully. “Would that I had come up with such a brilliant idea myself.”
“And Thor was content to go along with this?”
“Of course he wasn’t. He said it would be a catastrophic failure of manliness, in not so many words. But I told him to shut up and do it, and that I would go with him as his handmaiden.”
Angrboda snorted. “So you donned a dress. But you’re a shape-shifter—you’ve taken on female forms before, so why not just change yourself into a woman?”
“Because that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun,” said Loki. “So, we dressed up Thor and went to Jotunheim, and he proceeded to act like his usual self, so I had to cover for him. Then, finally, they brought out the hammer as a wedding gift, and Thor picked it up and killed everyone there.”
Angrboda said nothing.
“And that’s how Odin’s son got his hammer back,” Loki concluded, “and why I was in a dress. That was earlier this evening—as soon as we got back to Asgard, I left for here. Wasn’t that a great story?”
“It ended with a feast hall full of our dead kinsmen,” Angrboda said dully.
Loki screwed up his face. “ ‘Kinsmen’? I’ll bet neither of us knew any of those people. They were the worst kinds of giants. Stupid, brutish, vicious. They’re not our kin. They’re not our family. What do you care for them, anyway?”
Angrboda gestured between them. “We two are giants. And for all I know, some of those people could have traded with Skadi or Gerd or have been saved by my potions, or—”
“Oh, Skadi? She was so angry when she found out Thor had killed everyone at the feast. She was about to stomp right out of Odin’s hall, until he demanded to know whose side she was on.”
Angrboda had no trouble picturing this. “And how did she respond?”
“She didn’t. And trust me, the Aesir found this most worrying indeed. But Njord spoke out on her behalf, and so they bear her no ill will.” Loki looked up at the moon. “He explained that Skadi is simply very attached to this land and to its people, as nasty as some may be. Njord understands this, as he is just as fond of the sea. Perhaps they’re not such a bad match after all.”
Angrboda was frowning, lost in thought. Loki took one look at her serious expression and stuck his tongue out at her. By way of a response, she shoved him into the water and curled her legs up to her chest so he couldn’t drag her in.
Loki made no move to do so, though. In fact, he did not even surface for a few moments, and Angrboda was honestly starting to worry that he had drowned when he popped up and spit a stream of water at her. She put her hands up to block it, laughing.
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