Loki's Gambit, page 13
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
“Grandma!” says Amy, sounding absolutely scandalized. The gifts to Odin, Thor and Sif were made by two rival clans of dwarfs in a contest. The prize was Loki’s head. At the last minute Loki convinced the winner that since only his head had been promised, it couldn’t be detached at the neck. Said dwarf chose to sew up Loki’s mouth in lieu of decapitation.
He’s not sure exactly why Amy sounds so disapproving, but he senses an opportunity for comedy, or at least shock value.
With just the barest bit of concentration, he creates an illusion of wire stitches over his lips. Turning to Amy, and Beatrice he says, “Mmmphhhff!”
Beatrice sits back in her seat, hand over her mouth.
Amy gasps. “How can you even joke about that?!”
Loki tilts his head. The serious answer, the truthful answer, is how can he not? Joking about pain is the only weapon he has. It is the way he thumbs his nose up at the universe. The way he proves he is unbroken, and if not the god of mischief, then at least mischief’s master.
But that isn’t the funny answer.
He creates an illusion of himself in the backseat next to Beatrice and lets that projection say, “Don’t worry, m’lady. I am not offended by my joke.”
“Ahh!” says Beatrice looking frantically back and forth between the illusion of Loki and Loki’s real self.
The car almost swerves off the road. “Don’t do that without warning me!” says Amy.
“Mmmphhhff,” says Loki’s real self, still feigning the stitches.
“Don’t you people believe in proportional punishment?” Amy shoots him a glance that looks angry, hurt and scandalized all at once.
Loki tilts his head. In the scheme of things, that physical agony was small. He had done a wrong. He paid a price. It was logical. There were other pains, other slights that were random and unjust. They hurt more. But he cannot think of them, much less speak of them. Instead, he lets his astrally-projected self lean forward and whisper near her ear. “But if I hadn’t had my lips sewn shut I wouldn’t have learned the art of astral projection — out of sheer desperation to wag my tongue.”
Beatrice snorts.
Loki lets the illusion of himself and the stitches fade. “And if Thor hadn’t had the opportunity to hold me down while the stitches were put in, he might not have felt that he’d recovered his honor and we might never have become friends.”
Amy shoots him a look that communicates both revulsion and disbelief.
But Thor and Loki had been friends, hadn’t they? They’d both risked their lives for one another. And for a long time Thor’s friendship had surely helped ease Valli and Nari’s dealings with other Asgardians. They had been known more for Thor’s patronage, and less as Loki’s sons.
In the end what good had it done them, though? Even, brave, noble, supposedly honest, Thor had caved to Odin.
Loki clenches his fists. He cannot believe that Valli and Nari have met their ends. They are somewhere, alive, if not well, and wherever they are he will find them. Loki is very good at finding lost things, and the more impossible the task, the more likely it is he will succeed. Even Odin gives him that.
“So...” says Amy, eyes focused on the road ahead. “Can you tell us what we’re going to do when we find gala drill?”
“Gala drill?” says Loki. A party and a drill? He scratches his ear... Did he hear right, or lose the thread of magic? Something tickles in the back of his mind
“You know, elf queen, in the books?” says Amy.
“And movies!” Beatrice pipes in.
“Ahhh...a name from a new myth,” says Loki, the tickle becoming an itch. There is something about the name that feels almost, but not quite right.
Amy blinks. “I guess, maybe.”
Shaking his head, Loki says, “No king or queen of the elves would reveal their true name. It would mean sacrificing too much of their power.” Lifting his eyebrows, he tilts his head. “And believe me, power isn’t something elven monarchs are keen on relinquishing.”
Amy leans forward in her seat. She isn’t wearing the figure-flattering shirt she wore the other day. What she is wearing now is baggy, and goes too far up her chest. Loki has no idea why someone with such astonishing breasts would want to hide them.
“Uh....is she going to be unhappy to see us here?” Amy says, looking nervously out the window.
“You and Beatrice? Oh, no, you are fine. The elves resented Odin’s orders to withdraw from your realm. They saw it their duty to play an active role in shaping human culture. They’ll be delighted to see you. Me, on the other hand...” He puts a hand to his chin, and taps contemplatively. “I will need a disguise.”
“The elf queen can’t read hearts?” whispers Amy quietly.
Startled by the question, Loki turns to her. “Actually, the elf queen can read hearts, or minds rather. I’m sure that she’ll see through the disguise, but it will confuse her court, and give her plausible deniability should Odin pay her a visit.”
“You’re on the outs with Odin already?” says Beatrice.
Choosing to ignore that question, Loki says, “As for what I want with the elf queen...I want a simple exchange of information.”
He sees Amy’s eyes lift to the rear view mirror and realizes she and Beatrice are exchanging a glance.
Let them wonder. He has been more than accommodating.
Amy squeezes Car’s steering wheel. “What sort of disguise?”
Loki tilts his head. “The best disguise is like the best lie. As close to the truth as possible.” He concentrates. His armor with its magical camouflage is too fine to belong to just any ordinary soldier. He dulls it to steel, painted dark gray. His hair he changes to brown, his chin and nose he broadens, and he increases his height and the width of his shoulders.
“Whoa,” says Amy, “you were big enough already.”
Unable to resist a chance to jest, Loki smirks. “Yes, yes, I was,” he says in a deep, husky voice.
Amy tilts her head. “What does that mean?”
Before Loki even has a chance to purse his lips at her disappointing inability to grasp that little bit of sly innuendo, Beatrice hits him on the back of the head.
That’s more like it!
“Argh!” Loki screams, feigning pain. He turns and smiles at Beatrice. She scowls at him.
“Oh, my God,” says Amy.
Loki smirks at her. “I’m not really a god, but I’ll pretend to be one for you.”
Beatrice hits him again. “Argh!” Loki cries, but he is unable to suppress a wide grin. There’s nothing like a bit of comedy to take one’s mind off a daunting quest.
“Was that an allusion to penis size?” Amy says, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.
Loki’s smile drops. Cringing in genuine distaste he says, “Must you be so anatomical?”
Amy is silent for a moment. Dipping her chin and scowling, she begins to chant. “Penis, penis, penis.”
Beatrice whacks him over the head again.
“...penis, penis, penis...”
“Hit her, not me!” Loki cries.
“...penis, penis, penis,” says Amy, looking angrier and angrier.
“You started it,” the old woman replies.
Huffing, Loki says, “To return to the previous topic — ”
Amy stops her chant.
“Thank you,” says Beatrice.
“I will not try to disguise my Frost Giant nature, but I will go by the name of Fjölnir Thorsbruter. It’s a common name among Frost Giants in Thor’s legion, and won’t raise suspicion.”
“You look like a Frost Giant now?” says Amy, looking him up and down.
“Of course,” says Loki, slightly vexed.
“You’re not blue. In the movies Frost Giants are blue.”
Loki stares at her, completely at a loss for what she could be talking about.
From the backseat comes Beatrice’s voice. “Oh, my, how lovely.”
Amy’s eyes go back to the road. They have just come over a gentle rise, and now in the distance beyond cultivated fields, orchards, pasture lands, and a wide river, Alfheim’s only city in the domain of the light elves is on full display.
“It’s beautiful,” Amy says.
Loki gazes at the city in the distance. Set into the side of a mountain, it sits beside the border road. The city’s architecture is reminiscent of human European architecture from the 12th century. The entire city is made from white stone. Thick walls and ramparts with small slitted windows encircle more buildings with the same small slitted windows. There are peaked tile roofs, all in green. At the center of the city, rising up above the other buildings, is the castle proper. Dark green ivy climbs along walls; trees with lavender leaves lift their crowns alongside the buildings.
Loki hasn’t been here in over a hundred years. Squinting, he looks hard for any changes in the scenery, but even the ivy and trees within the city gates remain exactly as he remembers them. Absolutely nothing has changed.
“I suppose it’s quaint,” he says. He’s not sure how the humans can be impressed. Chicago, with its riot of styles from only the last century or so, displays more variety of architecture in a single block than the whole city of Alfheim. And Alfheim’s city is so small. It is only a few miles wide and the tallest tower can’t be over ten stories.
“Like a fairy castle,” says Beatrice, her voice awed.
Loki snorts. “Well, technically — ”
“Are those dinosaurs?” Amy says, looking out at the fields.
Loki follows her gaze. A few hadrosaurs dot the pastures, and two are being ridden in neat formation along the city’s main wall. From afar they look a lot like the velociraptors Loki hatched so long ago. They have powerful hind legs and smaller forelimbs. They do not walk on their hind limbs exclusively though, and their mouths are beak-like. They also get much larger than velociraptors — up to the size of a bus.
“Yes,” says Loki.
He blinks. He’s a bit surprised English has a word for dinosaur. Loki doesn’t know English particularly well. He uses magic to translate languages. On Asgard they call it “The Gift of Tongues.” Humans might call it a “spell,” but it’s more a state of mind. Loki doesn’t fight the magic that flows through Amy and Beatrice that wants to interact with the appropriate neurons in his brain’s speech centers.
The trick has its limitations: if there is no corresponding word between languages, translations become difficult. But now there is a common English word for dinosaurs! Fascinating. Staring at the creatures, he realizes there is even an English word for specific dinosaur species. “Specifically, hadrosaurs, harmless herbivores,” he adds. Harmless unless they step on you, of course.
Tensing at the wheel, Amy looks nervously to the dark forest still on their left. “I don’t have to worry about T-rexes or velociraptors, do I?”
Loki’s mouth drops open. “You know what a velociraptor is?”
“I’ve seen Jurassic Park,” says Amy. Voice rising tremulously she says, “Are there velociraptors here?”
“No,” says Loki. “No....nasty creatures though, I’ll give you that.”
Amy turns her face quickly to him. She doesn’t look relieved for some reason.
Puzzling over that, Loki looks out at the road and his eyes go wide. “Look out for the hadrosaur dung!”
Amy hits the brakes and they screech to a halt just in time.
“It’s the size of a dog!” says Beatrice.
“It looks like bird poop,” says Amy. “White...but really lumpy. I wonder if I could get a sample and take it back to school? We have a thermos, don’t we? I have a friend from undergrad in the micro lab at UIC. We could compare the genome of the hadrosaur dung bacteria to the bacteria in bird guano. If elves were on Earth at one time, there is a possibility that the bacteria might share a common ancestor!”
Loki blinks.
“We probably don’t have time for that, Dear. Right Loki?” says Beatrice.
Loki stifles a laugh at Beatrice’s conspiratorial prompting, but he’s more impressed than repulsed. It’s something Hoenir would do — at this point Loki is quite inured to dung collection. Pursing his lips he says, “Maybe later. For now, perhaps you should drive more slowly? We are close enough to the castle for it to be safe after dark.”
“Right,” says Amy, steering the vehicle so it straddles the dung.
Loki hopes none gets on the axles; it is quite foul smelling. He sighs. Elves. No appreciation for any type of evolution.
Chapter 8
Amy is glad for the chance to slow down. It gives her a chance to look around. As they cross the neat fields of what looks like wheat, she can see little thatched cottages. She catches sight of goats, sheep, small shaggy horses, chickens — and sometimes hadrosaurs. From afar their scales are reminiscent of tropical birds, deep, almost iridescent green, with spots of red and yellow.
As they drive along, people — well, they look like people — come out of their little homes, take one look at them, and rush back inside. If they didn’t seemed so terrified Amy would probably stop the car and get out — no matter how much Loki might protest.
They are just a few miles from the city proper, when two knights come riding up the road towards them. She thinks they are knights anyway. They are wearing armor like the kind she is accustomed to from the Art Institute, are seated on shaggy little white horses, and are carrying lances. Their faces and ears are covered, so despite their proximity she can’t see if they’re Elves.
“Um...” says Amy.
Loki, now looking like a very pale Conan the Barbarian, looks at the door. “Where is the window crank? I’d like to address them.”
“The button,” says Amy.
“What button?” says Loki.
“Switch,” says Beatrice.
“Ahhhhh....” says Loki.
“Wait, I have a better idea,” says Amy. Pressing a button on the side of the door, she opens the skylight.
“Perfect!” says Loki smiling broadly. “I love this machine.” He looks at Amy, an expression of deep earnestness on his now broad barbarian face. “Do you think it could ever love me?”
Unsure if this is another one of his jokes, Amy just stares at him.
From the backseat, Beatrice says, “Loki dear, they’re jostling their sticks.”
Loki looks out at the knights who are raising their lances. “Just give me a minute,” he says, and then he stands up next to Amy. It puts his hips rather too close to her face. Her cheeks go hot and she’s on guard instantly. She’s really glad he’s busy talking to the knights; otherwise she’s pretty sure he’d have a bit of innuendo to throw her way just now.
A knight gives a yell, and Amy blinks and straightens. The knight is pointing at her car with his lance.
The words coming out of Loki’s mouth seem smooth, almost musical. But the knights raise their lances and then both of them are yelling at Loki. Amy starts gauging the feasibility of a three point turn. The sun is slipping down on the horizon, and Loki has warned against the wisdom of traveling the road at night, but...
From the direction of the castle eight more knights come riding out on horses, followed by knights on hadrosaurs at the rear. The giant creatures move relatively slowly, but they are intimidating. Loki is still talking, and the knights are still waving their lances.
Hand going to the gears, Amy gets ready to switch into reverse. “Loki! Should I turn around?”
Pulling himself back into the car, Loki smiles broadly at her. It’s even more disconcerting than it should be since he’s changed his appearance to be more Conan the Barbarian-esque. Her brain is having a little difficulty wrapping itself around the concept that it is still the wiry guy with red hair in there. She wants to pinch his cheek or something, to verify everything is real, but the timing is a little inconvenient. And he’d probably misconstrue it as flirting. He’s still in the middle of the front seat and way too close to her.
“No, no, we’re fine!” he says, his voice still his own. Amy’s not sure if it makes the Conan thing better or worse.
“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “They’re just giving us an escort.”
As he says that, the first two knights run around their car, turn around and turn their lances on them again. In front of them the other knights bring their mounts around so their steeds and their lances are perpendicular to the road.
“See,” says Conan-esque Loki. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, dear,” says Beatrice, summing up Amy’s feelings exactly.
Falling back into his own seat, Loki-Conan waves a hand forward. “Go ahead!”
Amy checks the rear view mirror. Going backwards doesn’t seem much of an option. She puts her foot gently on the gas and drives through the gauntlet. There is a bridge just ahead of them, and a river as wide as an eight-lane highway beneath. Amy notices on the side of the river near the castle the water reflects the sky. On the side of the bridge where the water drains into the dark forest, the river is a muddy snake of churning brown and black. She follows the river’s path into the dark forest with her eyes to where it seems to split into tributaries.
“The Delta of Sorrows,” says Loki softly. She looks over at him and he’s shaking his head, one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. “Luddites and hypocrites,” he mutters.
Amy blinks and focuses her attention ahead. The knights are falling into formation behind them.
“The first fork in the road past the river, take a right turn toward the castle,” says Loki.
Amy swallows and nods. As they get closer to the castle, Beatrice says, “Oh, my, it’s even lovelier up close.”
And it is. It’s hard for Amy to keep her eyes on the road. The tremendous white wall on her left is covered with dark green ivy. Blue flowers are interspersed with the leaves.
“Yes,” says Loki. “You have to hand it to the elves, they can make even man-eating plants picturesque.”
“Man-eating?” says Beatrice.
“Let’s say you wouldn’t want to try and scale the wall by climbing the ivy,” says Loki.
“Oh,” says Beatrice. “It is so pretty, though...I wonder if it would keep the squirrels away from the bird feeder outside our kitchen window?”
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