Loki's Gambit, page 40
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
Lying next to Loki is Helen. Helen is nearly 36 years old. She is so small that she barely looks older than 12. And although she is intellectually as accomplished as an adult, magically, and emotionally, she is still 12.
All of the children of the Asgard are stunted this way. There is a lot of debate about the cause. Some say it is a curse. The more educated say Idunn’s apples have changed the magical code within the Aesir bodies that transmits traits. Aggie’s sorceress cousin Gullveig says that it is the effect of Odin’s magic, growing unchecked. For Helen this extended childhood is probably for the best. Sigyn says that she will want someday to have independence and “adult” relationships—but neither Loki nor Sigyn expect any Asgardian man to have her. And even independence is a bit of a dream. Helen still can’t walk and barely crawls. What she will do if something happens to Sigyn and Loki...Loki banishes the thought from his head....
Loki is lying beside Helen because Helen wanted to get close to the mosaics on the floor.
“Wha’ is dis?” says Helen, running her fingers over a picture of a blazing man, his skin so black it is almost blue, flames leaping from his skin and hair. Next to the man is a voluptuous woman whose skin and hair are glowing pale gold. Circling around them are two beautiful young girls. The picture is stylized, the girls’ arms are entwined, and they appear larger than their parents. “The woman is Glut, or glow,” says Loki. “The man is Laugatjanaz, the Blazing One. The two girls spinning away from them are their daughters, Einmyria, or ashes, and Eisa, embers.”
Loki traces the girls. Einmyria’s skin is as pale as his own, and she has black hair. Eisa is dark brown gold, her hair black braids with glowing yellow and orange flames. “The girls spun away from their parents. Einmyria became the planets and Eisa became the stars of the World Tree.”
“Prettie sistas,” says Helen softly.
“A pretty metaphor,” says Loki. “Hoenir told me once that Glut was the soul of the universe, trapped and condensed as matter. Laugatjanaz was the the spark that set her—and the universe—free.” He smiles softly. “Hoenir told me they had a son, too. He was more powerful than either of his parents. He became the magic that holds the World Tree together.” Loki tilts his head. He couldn’t find that story documented anywhere—and as a child, when he was interested in such myths, he looked obsessively.
Helen traces Eisa’s cheek with a blue finger. Loki thinks for a moment he hears laughter and the crackle of flames. He pulls back and takes a breath. And then he hears footsteps fast and light coming from behind them. Loki puts an arm protectively over Helen’s head.
“Arrrrgggghhhhh! Die!” screams a child’s voice.
“Never!” screams another child.
Loki scowls. His sons are at it again.
“Nari, Valli, watch where you are going!” Loki shouts. He and Helen both duck as shadows vault over their heads.
The two boys slide to a halt. “We were watching!” shouts Nari.
“We jumped over you!” shouts Valli.
Heart beating fast, Loki narrows his eyes at them. They are fraternal twins. Their conception was only a few decades less difficult than Helen’s. Sigyn had even consulted Frigga’s healing lady Eir for help and fertility herbs. And then one night after they’d given up, Loki had come home briefly from a campaign for just one night. It wasn’t Sigyn’s time, and they’d both been extremely drunk, but despite the odds, Sigyn had conceived.
The twins are nearly 15 now, but they are only the size of 5 year olds. Their skin isn’t quite as tan as Sigyn’s Aesir gold , but it’s darker than Loki’s pallor. They are both blonde, their eyes are the same gray as Loki’s, and they are healthy and hale. Nari tends toward the thin side, and Valli’s physique is more traditionally Aesir. They are, according to all who look upon them, beautiful.
They are also monsters. Nari is a bit of a coward, but he is so clever, he hides his cowardice with words. With words he can soothe every insult, and talk himself—and more often his brother—out of any scrape they get into. Valli is not a coward. He is brave to a fault, protective, loyal—and vicious and violent.
“And now I will destroy you!” Valli shouts again, raising a sword toward Nari.
Laughing, Nari takes off through the hall, Valli whooping on his tail.
“Now where were we?” says Loki, looking down at his hands. They’re blue in the glow of Helen’s magic. Helen is tired...it is strange, but that is when her magic seems strongest. It’s as though she holds back during her more wakeful moments. He is about to rebuke her, to tell her to just let go, when a voice booms from behind. “What are you doing on the floor, Fool!”
Loki rolls his eyes at Heimdall’s familiar disappointed tone.
Snickering at Loki’s eyeroll, Helen says, “Showin’ me pictas.”
“It is disrespectful,” says Heimdall, his heavy footsteps coming closer.
Loki rolls to his back, puts his hand behind his head, and scowls up at Heimdall. “How precisely is being prone on the throne room floor disrespectful? It’s not as though we’re bouncing in the Big Chair.” Scratching his chin, Loki says, “Although, perhaps it’s next—I’ll let the All Father know it was your idea.”
Heimdal stops, just a pace away. Standing as rigidly as ever, he stares down at them, hand on the pommel of his sword, his hunting horn hanging at his side. Loki is expecting some sort of argument, but instead Heimdall’s mouth drops. When he speaks, it is a stammer. “It just isn’t done.”
Loki sighs in vexation. Of course, lying on the throne room floor with one’s child isn’t done. Fathers spending time with their daughters is hardly done, but there are extenuating circumstances. Helen’s wheeled chair is a few paces away. It is hard for her to control her head movements while sitting up, and she gets a much better view lying down. Heimdall has watched her long enough; surely he must know this? But then again, this is the Aesir whose meddling created the social classes among mortals—he can’t stand a universe without order. However...
“Does it really matter?” Loki snaps.
Heimdall swallows. “No, in this case, I suppose it does not.”
They stare at each other. Heimdall upright and rigid as ever, Loki sprawled out on the floor. It strikes Loki at that moment that the person most trapped by Heimdall’s inflexible nature is Heimdall himself. Loki is suddenly, oddly, overcome by sympathy for the man who vexes him almost as much as the crown prince.
Heimdall clears his throat. “Prince Baldur noticed the illusion of Alfheim turrets failing at the south gate earlier.”
Loki tilts his head. “We rested there earlier and I noticed it flickering. I could not discern the nature of the problem though.”
Beside him Helen makes a small sound.
“Will you look at it again, Loki? As I passed it, it seemed fine, but the Prince was insistent.” Heimdall shakes his head. “It is beyond my skill.”
Loki blinks. An admission of weakness...and a compliment? Normally in Heimdall’s presence Loki casts true and untrue verbal barbs, but he finds himself speechless.
Rolling back over, he clambers to his knees and picks up Helen—waiting for the reprimands that Heimdall throws at him for ‘coddling his warped daughter.’ But none come. Loki puts Helen in her wheeled chair and they set out to the gate in a silence more uncomfortable than Heimdal’s insults.
The sun is just past its zenith, and it is hot. From a distance, the gate looks fine—white stones, with climbing flowers, and green turrets atop. But as they get closer it begins to flicker, gray blocks of poured cement showing through the facade.
“Schtop me here,” Helen says as they approach.
Loki tilts his head. He sees sweat upon her brow. “I can stop you by the gate, in the shade.”
“No, schtop me here,” says Helen. She’s wobbling in her chair and Loki’s skin is bright blue. They’ve been out since early morning and she’s very tired.
Not stopping, Loki starts to argue. “But —”
And then the illusion drops completely at the space of wall just before them and everywhere in the reach of the blue glow of Helen’s magic.
Helen gasps. “Letchs go home.” Her fingers tremble on the chair’s armrests.
Baldur’s voice rings out from behind. “Heimdall, what is Loki doing here?”
Heimdall and Loki both turn and bow—though Heimdall’s bow is deeper and longer. “My Prince, I just brought Loki here to help.”
“He’s probably the cause of this malfunction,” Baldur snaps, wrinkling his nose as he steps into the glow of Helen’s magic.
Smirking, Loki winks at Baldur and waggles his eyebrows. Loki sometimes flirts with him just to get his goat.
Baldur narrows his eyes. He’s never made an attempt to bed Loki. Which is a pity. Loki would be well within his rights to defend his honor to the death for the insult, crown prince or no. Loki’s very sure he knows who would win. Just for fun he lets a jet of flame rise from his hand.
Oddly, Heimdall ignores Loki’s theatrics. Instead, raising his head he says earnestly, “My Prince, are you well? You look pale.”
“I am fine,Gatekeeper,” Baldur snaps again.
“You do not sound yourself, either,” Heimdall says. Bowing again, Heimdall says, “My liege, far be it from me to offer advice, but please, I beseech thee, go to the healers. Your color and countenance seem off. I fear enchantment.”
Baldur backs up a few paces. His eyes fall to Helen. How long has it been since he has been in the presence of Loki’s daughter? Loki blinks, not since that time in the great hall with Sigyn and Thor—when they both had remained uncharmed by the prince.
Loki sneers. Baldur meets his eyes and then turns and strides away. Loki’s eyes slide to Helen and he begins to laugh. “It’s Helen. Helen is bringing down the illusion!”
“Father...” says Helen.
“Is this true, Helen?” Heimdall says. “Can you see through all illusions?”
Helen looks at Loki, and he smiles encouragingly.
She nods, and looks down. “And liez. Is getting stronger.” She meets Loki’s eyes.
Loki stares at her in wonder. He can sense lies, but his daughter exposes them to all. He laughs again. “The humans will call you the Goddess of Truth, and the Judger of Souls!” Breathlessly, Loki shakes his head. The Goddess of Truth—his daughter! It makes no sense, but there it is.
Kneeling before her he smiles, new possibilities spinning out before him. “The All Father will make you an ambassador, he will put you before the dignitaries of the realms to judge their fealty!” She may never find love, but she will be valuable, she will have purpose, respect, and power— independence even, if she wants it.
Overwhelmed, and relieved, Loki pulls his Helen into his arms. The Goddess of Truth...how could such a beautiful creature even be his?
“A dangerous gift,” Heimdall says. But he sounds a million realms away.
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Squeakers climbs up Amy’s shoulder and settles by her ear. Amy looks back at her grandmother; Beatrice is crying. Amy sits up straighter. Does she understand them? She takes a sharp breath, and then Beatrice stands up and starts yelling in Ukrainian.
“She’s saying ‘Don’t take him, don’t take him’? But I sense no magic...What is she talking about?” Loki says, wide eyes meeting Amy’s.
Mr. Squeakers gives an alarmed squeak and Amy shakes her head. “I don’t know. Something from her childhood maybe?”
Beatrice screams and backs toward the window. The look of fear in her eyes is heartbreaking.
“Grandma,” Amy says. “It’s me. Grandma!”
But it’s as though Amy isn’t there.
Loki speaks a few words softly in Ukrainian. Beatrice lunges at him. He catches her easily and spins her around, pinning her arms against her chest. She shakes, and thrashes, screaming in Ukrainian, her eyes filled with anger and horror.
Loki looks at Amy with wide eyes. “What do I do?”
Amy runs to the door to call a nurse; they are already running down the hallway. The first nurse in the door has a needle in her hand. “Hold her!” she says to Loki. She has the sedative in Beatrice’s arm just a few moments later.
The other nurse, a middle-aged man who talks with an African accent says, “She has been doing this these past few days. None of us speak Russian or Polish, though, and we don’t know what she is talking about.”
As Beatrice calms down, the nurses take Beatrice from Loki’s arms and put her into bed. And then they leave.
Loki stares down at Beatrice. “All I said was that she was safe and that we wouldn’t hurt her. But then she called me a liar and accused me of killing her baby brother.” He looks at Amy.
She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. Beatrice never told her or the elves about having a little brother. But then she was from a breed of people who wouldn’t talk about such things.
The nurses didn’t close the door and from the hallway comes the sound of someone crying.
“Is this better than death?” Loki asks.
“I don’t know,” says Amy.
“I’m very good at killing things, Amy. And people.”
She turns her head to him sharply. Gerðr’s voice rings in her head, ‘Everyone knows Loki killed Asgard’s golden son.’
Loki’s just staring down at Beatrice, a hopeless expression on his face. “But when it counts, when it is a kindness...” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
He says it as though it is such a weakness. She wants to reach out and put her hand on his arm, but doesn’t.
They stand in silence for a moment, but then Amy notices the sky outside is starting to darken. Biting her lip she says, “I have to go now.”
Walking over to Beatrice, Amy whispers, “Goodbye, Grandma,” and wipes away a few tears. She has no idea when it will be before she sees Beatrice again, now that her mother is moving her out of the city. Taking a deep breath, she looks over to Loki.
Walking over to Beatrice, he picks up her grandmother’s hand and kisses it but says nothing.
“Well,” says Amy.
Loki shakes himself and blinks at her. “Is it bad form to ask you if you’d like to get something to eat?”
“No, not really,” says Amy.
He perks up ever so slightly, and Amy feels sad for what she is about to say. “But I can’t, I have plans this evening.” Amy was very careful to make sure she had something to look forward to after this visit—now she sort of wishes she hadn’t. She is very glad he is here...and doesn’t want him to leave her. But he is unreliable, and she has to nurture relationships she can depend on.
Loki scowls.
“I’m going to a lecture on REM sleep in rhinoceroses at the University of Chicago. James’s wife is hosting it.”
Loki stares at her as though she’s just started speaking another language.
“Do you want to come?” Amy says, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“Will there be food?” Loki asks.
Amy shrugs. “Yeah.”
“We’ll take my car!” says Loki, heading toward the door. “It will be much faster.”
A car would be much faster, the University of Chicago is on the far south side of town. Before she goes there she has to stop at home to let out Fenrir—and to find a proper nesting spot for Mr. Squeakers—she’ll have to switch trains at least two times. As they step out into the hallway, Amy’s heart leaps a little, and then she stops herself.
“You have a car? And you can drive it?” Loki made Beatrice’s Subaru a permanent load-bearing part of Beatrice’s garage wall.
Smiling, he says. “I drove it here. Though technically it isn’t mine.”
Amy stops short. “I’m not going anywhere in a stolen car!”
Waggling his eyebrows at her, Loki smiles and says, “Relax, it’s a rental.”
A few minutes later Amy is staring down at a sleek ice blue sports car parallel parked on a nearby side street. “What sort of rental car is this?” she says.
“A Maserati Gran Turismo—from the Second City’s First Exotic Car Rental.” He holds up a key, and the car beeps, which is kind of reassuring. He has the keys! It isn’t stolen. She scowls. Maybe.
As he opens the door, Amy looks at the parking job. There isn’t much more than a foot between the front and back bumpers of the surrounding cars. “Ummm...you don’t have much room to get out.”
Loki shrugs, and slips into his side of the car. Blinking, Amy gets into her own seat. Noticing a “Second City’s First Exotic Car Rental” brochure in the door pocket she relaxes a little—at least when he crashes before they even get on the road it isn’t a stolen car.
To her surprise Loki pulls out of the impossible space without a hitch. She’s still craning her head back, not completely believing he’s done it, when he says, “So what is REM sleep?”
“Beak and feet like a duck, body like a beaver, and it lays eggs? It’s a magical creature.” Inside the car, Loki turns his head to her and gives her a triumphant grin, but his forehead is still tight and pinched. Outside the cars on interstate 90/94 are whizzing by in a blur.
Heart in her throat, Amy cries, “Look at the road!”
Shrugging, he faces forward very slowly, as though deliberately trying to tick her off. Which he probably is.
“I don’t think the duckbilled platypus is magical,” Amy says.
“I think it is,” says Loki.
“You didn’t even know what one was until I explained it to you!” says Amy.
“I still think it is magical.”
“Maybe in the sense that all creatures are magical,” says Amy, trying to get to her point.
Loki snorts.
She scowls. “The point is...unlike marsupials and placental mammals, it doesn’t have true REM sleep. Therefore we know that REM sleep is a more recent adaptation.”
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