It was only fair, given that her brother already ruled the One Sea. As for Fenris, for the next fifteen years he lorded it in Iron-wood, dismembering small creatures and generally running amok. They had to restrain him later, of course, though for the time being he was considered insufficient threat to count. But Hel was smart, and had to be dealt with a little more sensitively.
Odin made it sound as if she was performing a crucial task on behalf of the gods and gave her a runemark of her own – Naudr, the Binder – and almost unlimited power – but only within her realm, of course. The Old Man was planning to avoid Death for as long as he could, but even then, in his prime, he was already laying the foundations for a possible alliance – with a view to finding a loophole when the inevitable occurred.
As for Angrboda – well. She went her way, I went mine. I hoped there were no hard feelings, although, with Angie, you never could tell. Sigyn’s arms were always open, and she was endlessly forgiving, but what with the chintz, and the animals, the cooking, the nagging, the lutes, the scented candles, the pot-pourri and the cuddling, I would have lost my mind if I’d stayed. And so I fled the domestic scene and returned to my digs in Asgard.
No, I didn’t abandon her – Frigg would never have let me do that – but I managed to convince her that I needed my personal space. By then she was pregnant anyway, and her energies had been channelled into knitting bootees and little hats. A good time for me to make my excuses, I thought – and after that, she had the boys to occupy her.
Yes, the boys. My twin sons, Vali and Narvi, with my green eyes and my temperament, whom Sigyn (wrongly, as it happened) assumed would awaken my sense of responsibility. In fact, they had the opposite effect, with the result that over the next few years I took every excuse to travel as far and as often from my loving family as possible.
What can I say? It’s my nature. Besides, what role models did I have? An absent father in Chaos, and an absent mother in World Above. That’s hardly a wonderful start in life. Still, if I’d done things differently . . .
But no. Regrets are for losers. What’s done is done, and there’s no point in wishing for anything else. Didn’t I pay for it in the end? Maybe I even deserved it. And maybe I should . . . but none of that now. It’s easy to be wise after the Worlds have ended. The Black Fortress of Netherworld is filled with that kind of wisdom.
And so I went through fatherhood like a grain of wheat through a goose, unscathed and unremembered. And if there ever was a time when I wondered what it might have been like to play a game of catch with my sons, or teach them to fly, or shift Aspects, or educate them in such essential life skills as lying, cheating and treachery, I wisely kept the thought to myself. And yet, I was conscious that something had changed. Something inside me had shifted. The knot of barbed wire inside my heart was suddenly less intrusive. I could spend whole weeks and months without even thinking about revenge. One day, I flew into Asgard from one of my jaunts in hawk Aspect and saw my sons, aged seven or eight, playing on the battlements. And just for a moment, I almost felt . . .
Yes. I almost felt happy.
I should have known there was something wrong. Face it, it wasn’t natural. But after years of trying, at last, Odin had corrupted me. No, it wasn’t love, of course, but it was a kind of contentment. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone. Suddenly, I had people. And suddenly, the End of the Worlds couldn’t be too far away, as I looked at my sons from afar and thought: Perhaps this was what I was missing. Perhaps I belong here after all . . .
LESSON 6
Bridesmaids
Something borrowed, something blue.
Lokabrenna
AFTER THAT there came a stretch of generally crisis-free existence. Not that I was slowing down, but it was Asgard’s summertime, and all of us felt the sunshine. We were at our zenith then; worshipped throughout the Middle Worlds. Anything we wanted, we had. Gold, weapons, wine, women. Odin and Thor were the popular ones – along with Golden Boy, of course – but even Yours Truly had his share of songs and sacrifices. Ice Folk and Rock Folk were both at peace; Frey was happy with his bride and Skadi was on one of her trips to the North, meaning that there was no one there to cast a damper on the festivities.
Something, sometime, was bound to go wrong. We had all become far too complacent. Suspicion and Survival are twins – lose one, and the other soon follows.
One morning after a drunken night, Thor awoke in his empty hall to find that his hammer was missing. For a while he assumed that Sif had tidied it away, then that one of the others had maybe hidden it for a joke, but when everyone denied knowledge and finally, Yours Truly was called and accused of having stolen it, we realized we had a problem.
‘What in Hel’s name would I want with your hammer?’ I said.
Thor shrugged. ‘I dunno, I thought—’
‘Don’t try to think,’ I said, and cast Bjarkán, the rune of true vision. It revealed a shielded signature – the colours of which I recognized immediately. ‘That signature belongs to Thrym, one of the chieftains of the Ice Folk. He must have found his way in here – he likes to travel in eagle form – and stolen it when you were asleep.’ I looked at Heimdall. ‘Where were you? Drunk again? Gods, the security in this place . . .’
‘Watch your tongue,’ Heimdall growled. ‘Or I may relieve you of it.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘Go ahead. Enjoy yourself while you still can. Because as soon as the news gets out that Thor’s lost his hammer, we’re going to get pounded on all sides by every little warlord who fancies his chances against us.’
There was silence, as everyone realized that I was right.
I turned to Freyja. ‘Your falcon cloak.’
She nodded. Even she knew what would happen if Mjølnir were lost. It wasn’t just the hammer, but the loss of credibility. Odin’s empire was built on bluff and the knowledge that no one dared to strike, but our enemies were like wolves around a bonfire: at bay, but let them scent blood, just once, and they’d be on us before we knew it.
Odin watched as I flung on the cloak. ‘Talk to Thrym,’ he told me. ‘Find out what he wants from us. And, Loki – please. Be careful.’
I was surprised. It had to be the first time that the Old Man had shown any interest in my personal safety. I guessed he knew they’d need my skills if they were to retrieve the hammer. I’ll admit, I felt rather flattered; Odin had put his trust in me, and I was looking forward to showing him what I was capable of. And so I flew to the Northlands and found old Thrym in his courtyard, making collars for his hounds and looking very pleased with himself.
I flew down to join him and perched on a branch, just out of reach of his big hands.
‘Loki,’ he said, and showed his teeth. ‘You’re looking very chirpy today. How are the Aesir? The Vanir?’
‘Not so good,’ I told him. ‘Not now you’ve stolen Thor’s hammer.’
Thrym gave a broad grin. ‘Have I?’ he said.
‘I thought you knew better than this, Thrym,’ I said. ‘Do you really want to see the whole of the Nine Worlds at war over a hammer? It won’t just be Asgard in trouble, you know. What you’ve done is likely to destabilize Order and Chaos. You’ll have Lord Surt on your doorstep before you can say “death wish”. So give Thor back his hammer, and we can all go back to staying alive. What do you say?’
He grinned again. ‘I don’t want Thor’s hammer.’
‘That’s nice. So what do you want?’
‘I’m in love,’ he said.
I cursed. ‘Oh, gods. Not you as well?’
‘I’ve buried the hammer in World Below. You’ll never find it in time,’ he said. ‘But you can have it back as soon as I get the Goddess of Desire as my bride. You have nine days to deliver.’
Freyja! Gods. I should have known. That woman was nothing but trouble. So I flew back to Asgard as fast as I could – time was short – and found the Thunderer waiting, rather impatiently, in his hall.
I took off Freyja’s feather cloak, ready to drop with exhaustion.
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‘Well?’ said Thor.
‘Well, a drink would be nice. I’ve been flying for days, you know.’
Thor grabbed me by the throat. ‘Well?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I talked to Thrym. And he’s happy to return the hammer, on condition that we agree to give him Freyja as his bride.’
Thor gave the matter some three seconds’ thought, then said: ‘Fine. We’ll tell her.’
We called a meeting of the gods – all of them – in Odin’s hall. ‘There’s good news and slightly less good news,’ I said. ‘The good news is, I persuaded Thrym to give back Mjølnir. The slightly more ambivalent news is . . .’ I smiled dazzlingly at Freyja. ‘Now, before you shoot me down in flames—’
‘You’d better not be about to say what I think you’re about to say,’ said the Goddess of Desire, through her teeth.
‘Ah, come on,’ I said. ‘Be fair. Thrym’s a decent guy at heart. And he’s a king, for gods’ sakes. It’s not like I’m trying to pair you up with a labourer. Think about it. You’ll be Queen of the Ice Folk. You’ll have a crown of diamonds and a wedding dress of mink.’
She gave me one of her looks. ‘No. I’d rather go to war.’
‘With what? Thrym has Mjølnir, in case you’d forgotten.’
‘I don’t care. I’m not marrying one of the Ice People. They’re ugly, and uncouth, and all of them smell of fish.’
‘What’s wrong with the smell of fish?’ said Njörd.
Freyja looked appealingly at Odin. ‘You can’t want me to do this,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
But since the business with Dvalin and the necklace, Odin had been a lot less indulgent with Freyja. Most of the time he didn’t let his anger show, but I knew him too well to misread the signs.
‘We need the hammer, Freyja,’ he said.
‘Meaning you don’t need me?’ She started to cry, which was her usual way of dealing with adversity. In this instance, no one seemed to care much. Freyja dried her tears. ‘I see. You’d rather see me sold, like a whore.’
I hid a grin behind my hand, but not before she’d seen it.
From his throne, Odin caught my eye. I knew what he was thinking, and so did Freyja. Anger made her tremble. She started to shift to her Carrion form – that monstrous personification of all-consuming, selfish Desire – and in the violent discharge of glam, the golden choker around her neck broke apart, scattering its links and gems all around Odin’s high seat.
‘My, that’s appealing,’ I said, and grinned again.
Freyja gave an anguished scream. ‘I hate you all!’ she said, and ran out.
I said: ‘I’ll take that as a no.’
The gods exchanged uncomfortable glances.
‘We still have to deal with Thrym,’ I continued. ‘The King of the Ice Folk, in his stronghold, surrounded by his people, armed with runes and all kinds of local knowledge – not to mention Thor’s hammer . . .’ I paused to allow time for this to sink in. ‘Thrym wants a bride. We have no choice. I say we give him one.’
There was silence. Everyone looked glum.
Frey said: ‘Freyja won’t have him.’
‘I see her point, of course,’ I said. ‘But we have to give him someone. And, wrapped in a wedding veil, covered in gems, one bride looks a lot like another.’
‘You think you can fool him?’ Heimdall sneered. ‘As soon as he finds out he’s been duped, he’ll slit the bride’s throat.’
‘Not if she slits his first,’ I said. ‘It all depends on who we send.’
Everyone was looking at me now. I grinned again and turned to Thor.
‘You’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking,’ he growled.
‘I’m thinking floor-length taffeta under a cloak of snow-white mink. Plenty of skirts to make your hips roll. And your hair tucked under a sweet little cap . . .’
‘No way,’ said Thor dangerously.
I ignored him. ‘We’ll fix Freyja’s necklace,’ I told them. ‘It’s her signature piece, and Thrym will be expecting to see it. And we’ll hide his face under a veil, and walk him right into Thrym’s place without anyone suspecting a thing. Then, when Thrym brings out the hammer . . .’
Odin was smiling now. ‘It could work.’
‘No way,’ said Thor again.
I said: ‘I’ll be your handmaid, Thor. Don’t worry, I won’t steal your thunder. You’ll make a gorgeous bride.’
Thor growled.
‘And don’t worry about the wedding night. I’m sure Thrym will be very gentle. I’ll tell him it’s your first time—’
His blow, had it connected, would have left nothing of me but a smear on the floor. As it was, I evaded it easily and danced away, still grinning.
‘We don’t have the choice,’ I told him again. ‘It’s this, or lose Mjølnir. What do you say, folks?’
They all agreed. And that was how, eight days later, the Thunderer, dressed in one of Freyja’s gowns, drenched in her perfume, arms and legs waxed, fingernails gilded, wearing Freyja’s necklace and an expression of murderous rage (happily, hidden under the veil), set off on the road to the Northlands with Your Humble Narrator at his side.
His chariot left a furious trail of scorch-marks and potholes behind it, visible for miles around. It was Thor’s usual way of travel, of course, but a purist might have condemned it as a little too aggressive for a lady on her way to her forthcoming nuptials. I’d managed to shield the signature that would have proclaimed his presence in a broad red stripe of glam all the way from Ida’s plain into the northern glaciers, but there was nothing I could do about the collisions on the way, or the grinding of Thor’s teeth under the jewelled bridal veil.
On arrival, I explained to our host: ‘Freyja was keen to arrive, Lord Thrym. Besides, we women charioteers . . .’ I shot him a smile from beneath my handmaid’s headdress. I make a more convincing woman than Thor and, being beardless, had no need to wear a veil. In any case, Thrym seemed to approve, and chucked me under the chin, and said:
‘If the mistress is half as pretty as the maid, I think my luck is in tonight.’
I giggled. ‘Oh, you! Get away!’
Then, avoiding Thrym’s roving hands, I ushered the fake bride into the banqueting hall of the Ice Folk, where tables had been laid for a feast. Haunches of meat, whole salmon, pies, mountains of cakes and candied fruit. Branches of candles everywhere, giving the place a festive glow. And mead, lots and lots of mead; enough for an army of drinkers.
I could hear Thor muttering to himself, and hissed at him, ‘Be quiet. All right? Let me do the talking.’
Thrym’s people led us to our place at the table, on Thrym’s left side. I cleverly manoeuvred Thor away from the place where the warriors sat, and settled him with the women.
Thrym was nearby, but not near enough for any hankypanky. The man had wandering hands, all right, and I didn’t want Thor losing his temper – at least not until we had the hammer, at which point Thor was free to run amok as much as he liked.
‘Just try to eat something, my Lady,’ I hissed, poking Thor in the ribs. Then, turning to Thrym, ‘She’s a little shy. I’m sure she’ll unbend when she’s eaten.’
Well, Our Thor has always had a more than healthy appetite. On this occasion he surpassed himself, managing to put away a whole roast ox, eight salmon and all the little delicacies – sweets, cakes, biscuits, candied fruit – that had been put out for the women. I tried to warn him, but Thor and food are friends that can’t be parted. And after that, he started on the mead, downing three whole horns of the stuff before I managed to make him see sense.
Thrym watched him in astonishment. ‘She likes to eat, doesn’t she? How does she keep her figure?’
I giggled and fluttered my eyelashes. ‘Oh, Lord Thrym, but my mistress hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing since your flattering proposal. For eight days she’s been on a strict fast, she was so worried about fitting into her wedding dress.’
Thrym smiled fondly. ‘Ah, bless,’
he said. ‘She doesn’t need to diet for me. The bigger the cushion – now don’t be shy . . .’ He made a lunge for Freyja and managed to peek under her veil.
What he saw there seemed to make him uneasy.
‘Freyja’s eyes . . .’ he stammered.
‘What?’ I patted his arm and smiled up at him.
‘They’re so fierce – they burn like embers!’
‘Oh, but my mistress hasn’t slept for eight nights,’ I explained. ‘She’s been so keen for her wedding night – her wedding night with you, my Lord.’
‘Oh,’ said Thrym.
I smiled. ‘She’s heard all about you, my Lord,’ I said. ‘Your vigour, your handsome looks, your size . . .’
‘Really?’ said Thrym.
‘Absolutely,’ I whispered. ‘Look at the way she’s watching you now. She’s practically squirming with anticipation.’
‘Bring the hammer at once!’ said Thrym. ‘I want to be married right now!’
It took a few minutes for servants to bring the hammer into the dining hall. Meanwhile, Thor waited impatiently, while Thrym’s sister, who had been watching the fake bride throughout the meal, came to sit down next to us, eyeing the rings on Thor’s hand. They belonged to Freyja, of course, and – of course – they were very beautiful.
‘You’ll need a friend round here,’ she said. ‘Give me those rings on your fingers, and I’ll show you the ropes.’
Thor said nothing, but I could tell he was reaching the end of his patience. I ushered the sister away from him, promising her as many rings as she liked as soon as the wedding was over.
‘I think we should leave Freyja alone,’ I said, with a quelling glance at Thor. ‘She’s very shy and nervous, you know. Let’s respect her modesty.’
At last, the hammer was carried in, with every tedious piece of ceremony you can imagine. Speeches, toasts, and I could practically feel Thor’s temper, frayed to the point of combustion.
‘And now,’ said Thrym, who was very drunk, ‘we can all agree that Freyja has made the right choice. Mjølnir is a mighty weapon, but I think we both know there’s a mightier one. I hear she can’t wait to try it out.’ And he staggered up to Freyja and winked, and placed the hammer on her lap.