Oh, she’d been planning this for decades. I’d thought my dreams of vengeance grandiose, but next to hers mine were just the fleeting dreams of a sleeping cat. Gullveig had it all worked out: over the years she had entered the dreams of Ice Folk and Rock Folk, manipulating their chieftains; whispering hatred into their ears so that now they were almost ready to strike. She had entered the dreams of the insane; the murderous; the unhappy; the lost. Now all were converging on Ironwood – Ice Folk; Rock Folk; Tunnel Folk from underground; werewolves and witches and half-blood demons and bastard Firefolk from whatever little empire they’d managed to build during the reign of Order – while the unsuspecting Folk, Odin’s beloved wor-shippers, assembled their warriors in the foothills and plains of Inland, driven by instincts as powerful as those of a nest of wild bees, swarming under the influence of some new, rapacious Queen . . .
Of course I was dazzled. Who wouldn’t be? She was the golden Queen; I was the King. Of course, a beehive has no king, but I wasn’t exactly following logic at the time. Heidi showered me with praise; worshipped me with her body; lavished me with extravagant gifts and placed me on a fire-ship at the head of a battle fleet that would launch, not across the One Sea, but through Dream, Death and Damnation itself.
That fire-ship. It was beautiful. Slim as a sword, and as deadly, it could glide through anything – air, or stone, or water. Its sail was like St Sepulchre’s Fire; its skeleton crew was tireless. (And by ‘skeleton crew’ I mean a crew of actual skeletons, coaxed into life by a cantrip of Naudr and press-ganged into my service.) And when I was tired of playing with it, I could fold it up like a pocket knife and carry it wherever I went, or moor it in Dream, where it would wait patiently to be summoned.
As for the rest of my demon fleet, these were not ships, precisely. Instead they were vessels for my army, a motley assemblage of half-bloods, renegade demons, the undead and assorted ephemeral creatures, all summoned by Heidi through Dream and sworn to my allegiance. The creatures called me General and worshipped me in their slavish way, as I cavorted with Heidi, eating venison, drinking mead and looking forward to Ragnarók and the End of Everything.
Now comes the final reckoning.
Now come the folk of Netherworld.
Now comes the dragon of darkness, Death—
This was the only part of the deal that caused me any anxiety. The Dragon of Darkness – aka Lord Surt – finally taking a physical Aspect to enter the Worlds and to cleanse them of that stubborn intruder, Life. Not what you’d call a happy thought. Heidi’s assurances that, when the time came, he would recognize our role in the triumph of Chaos and take us back into the primal Fire all made perfect sense – at least, whenever she was around. When I was alone, I had a tendency to feel rather less certain about the whole thing. I wasn’t even entirely certain that I wanted to go back permanently to my primary Aspect. I’d found too many things to enjoy in this corrupt, confusing world of conflict and sensations. I’d realized that one of the things I enjoyed most was challenging Order and breaking rules – and how in the Worlds could I do that if there was no Order to challenge? Even assuming that it was possible that I could be taken back into the heart of Chaos, that my radically altered being could even survive in that element . . .
Did I really want that? Had I ever wanted it?
Still, to Hel with the future. The present was well worth enjoying. This was the life, I told myself; wine, women, a vehicle suited to my personal requirements and a chance to thumb my nose at the gods. War was trembling in the air like a breath of springtime, and I could feel the Chaos in me leaping up to greet it. What if Surt was on his way? Eat, drink and be merry, I thought, for who knows what tomorrow will bring?
All right. Call it denial. I was enjoying myself at last. For the first time, I was a real god, and maybe – just maybe – it went to my head. But can you blame me, after all, with everything I’d been through? I was in my element. I had my fire-ship, Gullveig-Heid and an army of fanatical half-demon worshippers. What more could I want? I thought. What could possibly go wrong?
LESSON 2
Angie
One woman; trouble. Two women – Chaos.
Lokabrenna
ACCORDING TO THE ORACLE, it all happened in only a few stanzas. In fact it took months for Asgard’s folk to meet our folk in battle. During that time, the General barricaded himself inside, conferring with Mimir’s Head and holding endless talks with his people, as my new-found allies and I continued to set the stage for the invasion of the Middle Worlds and its subjugation, an inch at a time.
The first hint of trouble came about a month before our final campaign. We had a thousand fire-ships waiting to attack through Dream. To the north of Ironwood, the Ice People awaited our call, living under deerskin tents; and the Rock Folk had taken the eastern side, adopting as their refuge a labyrinth of limestone caves at the foot of the mountains. Meanwhile, the Folk were assembling; little bands of warriors, at first – no more than a few hundred at a time, armed with swords and axes and shields and sometimes just farm implements – drifting in towards the south-west. There had been a few skirmishes, but nothing more. The Folk were still uncertain. Rumours of an impending war; omens in the winter sky; nightmares; sudden deaths; ominous flights of migratory birds – all premonitions of bad things to come for Mankind and the Middle Worlds.
It was rumoured that Angrboda was in hiding somewhere in Ironwood, leading a pack of werewolves that preyed on the Folk that were gathering in numbers on the outskirts of the forest. I didn’t investigate the rumours. Angie wasn’t my biggest fan, not after the way the gods had dealt with Fenris, and I was in no hurry to introduce her to Heidi.
That’s why when she arrived one night, unannounced, demanding to see me, I felt a shiver of apprehension. I was in my tent; a marquee rather bigger than Odin’s hall, inscribed all over with fire-runes, draped in silk and tapestry and carpeted with wolf skins. I was just opening a bottle of wine and listening to the sounds of the night when in she came, looking warlike, followed by the harassed-looking demon guard I’d posted to avoid just such encounters as this.
‘I’m sorry, General,’ said the guard. ‘She just—’
‘I can imagine,’ I said. When the Witch of Ironwood comes to pay a visit, good luck to the poor idiot who shows her to the waiting room. I dismissed the guard with an absent wave.
‘Angie! Love of my life!’ I said.
The Witch of Ironwood has always favoured a youthful, innocent Aspect quite out of line with her true character, which was as perverse as they come, and today she looked about sixteen, fetchingly clad in black leather; wide-eyed under a thick line of kohl; dreadlocks plaited with silver thread. Most sixteen-year-olds wouldn’t have been carrying a pair of perfectly matched double-bladed swords, curved as sweet as a baby’s smile and practically singing with sharpness – but then, Angie was never typical.
‘Is it my birthday?’ I enquired.
She ignored that and instead looked around with interest at my quarters. Noting the silken draperies, the embroidered cushions on the ground, the candles, the furs, the food and drink, she raised a bejewelled eyebrow.
‘I suppose you think you’ve got it made,’ she said, sitting down on a cushion. ‘All this and the prospect of carnage, too. You must be in hog’s heaven.’
I smiled at her. ‘What’s wrong with that? I’ve had an Age of pain, discomfort, humiliation and thwarted desire. I thought perhaps it might be time to experience some of the nicer sensations before the Worlds come to an end.’
‘And then what?’ Angie said. ‘You think Chaos will take you back after everything you’ve done?’
I had to admit she had me there. There’s a special antechamber of Dream reserved for renegade demons, and I wasn’t in a hurry to see it for myself.
I said: ‘Maybe, maybe not. In any case, I’m not planning to die. In fact, I have it on good authority that I’m going to bring down Asgard.’
‘Good authority? You mean the Oracle,’ said Ang
ie, with a curl of the lip.
‘It hasn’t been wrong yet,’ I said.
‘But it hasn’t told you everything.’ Angie helped herself to wine. ‘And neither has your new friend, that little madam Gullveig-Heid.’
Ah. I thought it might come to that.
‘Feeling jealous, are we?’ I said.
‘Not on your life,’ said Angie. ‘I’m only keeping in touch with you for the sake of the children. Way to look after our son, by the way. I let you have him for the weekend and before I know it he’s chained underground, awaiting Last Times and stinking of mead.’
‘Ah. That.’
‘Yes. That. If you hadn’t messed things up, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and I wouldn’t be joining forces with Pandaemonium’s most poisonous blonde.’
‘You’re joining forces with Heidi?’ I said. Well, I could see the advantages. Angie was the mother of Hel, which made her a force to be reckoned with. But why would Angie agree to the deal? ‘Ah. Fenris.’ It all made sense. ‘So, Heidi promised to free him, did she? In exchange for your oath?’
She sniffed. ‘I had no choice. He’s my son. Besides, she freed you, didn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘That was nice. So what does she want?’
‘The usual. To bring down the gods, take over the Worlds, get bloody satisfaction. In fact, I’ve rarely met a woman whose tastes and ambitions were closer to mine – except perhaps for you, my dear.’
‘Quite the philanthropist, in fact,’ said Angie.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ I said. ‘But Heidi’s been very good to me.’
‘And she’s given you no cause to believe she might not be telling you everything?’
‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘In fact, her general lack of guile and dishonesty may be the only flaw I can find in an otherwise perfect package.’
Angie sniffed. ‘What about your wife?’
‘My wife? What about her?’
Good question, I thought. In fact, it was the first time in months that I’d remembered Sigyn. I know it sounds bad. But I never pretended to be the ideal husband, or anything. Besides, when you’re King of the Worlds, facing Last Times and surrounded by adoring lackeys and loose women, you tend to have more on your mind than flannelette nighties and fruitcake. But now Angie came to mention it, I realized that I’d never asked just what had become of my loving spouse when I’d been rescued from World Below, or indeed why she hadn’t tried to pursue me into Ironwood with promises of apple pie.
‘Because they bumped her,’ Angie said, answering the question.
‘What?’
‘Obviously, your little friend didn’t want her reporting home. Quicker and far more efficient to simply get her out of the way.’ She looked at me. ‘Are you all right? You’re suddenly looking kind of sick.’
‘I’m just fine,’ I told her.
And I was – it was simply that it had come as a surprise. The thought that Sigyn was really dead – sweet, harmless Sigyn; undoubtedly mad, with her passion for furry animals and her almost infinite capacity for baby-talk – was, like her fruitcake, almost impossible to digest. And the knowledge that Heidi had ordered her death without as much as a second thought, or even a word to Yours Truly . . .
‘Are you sure you’re fine?’ Angie said. ‘For a minute there I thought perhaps you were feeling responsible.’
I shook my head, which at that moment didn’t feel entirely clear.
It was absurd, I told myself. After all, we were planning the End of the Worlds; Ragnarók; the Twilight of the Popular Crowd. What did I think would happen when Asgard fell? That all the survivors would kiss and make up over tea and little sandwiches? Of course the gods were going to die. If I was lucky, I might not be among them. But to succumb to sentiment at such a time as this was wholly inappropriate. And as for feeling responsible . . .
‘You can’t make a fruitcake without breaking eggs. I mean – you can’t make an omelette.’
‘What?’ Angie said.
I tried again. ‘Collateral damage, that’s what it was. Choose your own cliché. Whatever. In any case, it wasn’t my fault.’
‘That goes without saying,’ said Angie.
‘So why tell me at all?’ I said.
She gave that little-girl smile of hers. ‘You may think Gullveig needs you,’ she said. ‘But as soon as your usefulness runs out, you’ll be on the pile like the rest of them. I don’t care if you trust me or not. Just don’t go turning your back on her.’
When Angie had gone, I thought for some time about what she’d said. Perhaps she was right, I told myself. Perhaps I hadn’t been careful enough in my dealings with Heidi. Perhaps I’d let my pursuit of physical pleasures as well as my desire for revenge get in the way of self-interest. After all, what did I really know about her? What did she know of the Oracle? And what kind of deal, if any, did she have going with Chaos?
I went back to the prophecy. It wasn’t much help. Heidi wasn’t mentioned by name, although I remembered this couplet:
In Ironwood, the Witch awaits.
The Fenris wolf will have his day.
At first, because of the reference to Fenny, I’d assumed that the Witch was Angie. But now I began to ask myself if Heidi wasn’t a better fit. If so, what was she waiting for?
Of course, I had no answers. All I had was the prophecy and Angie’s unfounded suspicions – which could have been due to jealousy, or simple malice, who could tell?
And so I went on with business, telling myself I could always get out if things started to smell bad. But by the time I realized how, once more, I’d been manipulated, there was nothing left to do but run across the burning bridge towards whatever awaited me . . .
LESSON 3
Darkness
It’s a crazy, god-eat-god world.
Lokabrenna
NO ONE SEES CLEARLY during a war. History gives perspective. Perhaps that’s why it took me so long to understand what had happened: our betrayal by Mimir’s Head; my betrayal by Gullveig. And the role of Surt, of course; the pendulum of Chaos swinging back like a headsman’s axe to cut us down like a field of grain. Oh, it was epic. Rousing stuff. Rivers of blood; rivers of knives; operatic feats of bravery and self-sacrifice.
The Oracle puts it this way:
I speak as I must. Three rivers converge
Upon the gods in their domain.
A river of knives from the east; from the north
And south, twin rivers of ice and flame.
In fact, that wasn’t far from the truth. We’d placed the Ice Folk and Rock Folk strategically on the northern and eastern sides of Ida’s plain, mostly as a diversion while the real business continued in the realm of Dream and to the south in Ironwood, shielded from sight by Heidi’s runes.
Meanwhile, the Folk were still gathering, now in greater numbers. Some had come from the Outlands on ships; some had ridden down from the north and from across the Ridings. They were disorganized, but they were many, clustering like ants around the edges of Ironwood; building their camps; lighting their fires; looking anxiously at the sky.
We made no move against them as yet. We had bigger fish to fry. Gullveig’s plan was intricate; everything meticulously arranged to coincide at just the right time. Over the months, her minions had been placed in discreetly commanding positions all over the Middle Worlds, ready to act on her orders, and as soon as she gave the word, her plans had been set into motion; beginning with my liberation, Angie’s recruitment, and the freeing of my son, the Fenris Wolf, who celebrated his coming-of-age by seeking out his erstwhile friends, the demon wolves Skól and Haiti, and conspiring with them to bring down the Sun and Moon chariots to plunge the Worlds into darkness . . .
That was the first blow. That darkness. Friend of outlaws everywhere; builder of fears and nightmares. In the uproar that ensued, the World Serpent thrashed up out of the sea, demon wolves overran the plains, and the hordes of Netherworld, at Heidi’s command, began to surge up from Chao
s’s realm to overrun the Middle Worlds.
Some attacked the Folk through Dream, sending madness and violence. The rest came naturally, as it always does in times of crisis. Communities broke up; families turned against each other; opportunists took the chance to enrich themselves at the expense of their neighbours. People tend to blame Chaos whenever anything goes wrong, but in fact most of the time Chaos doesn’t need to intervene. The Folk don’t need any help when it comes to massacring each other. You name it, they did it – murder; rape; the sacrifice of infants – all the time blaming the sunless sky, when the darkness was already there, in their hearts.
And of course, they blamed the gods. That was the part I enjoyed the most; that the Folk, who had worshipped Odin’s crew in such a fawning, uncritical way should, at the first sign of Last Times, turn against him in mindless rage, razing his temples, toppling his standing stones, cutting down his sacred trees, cursing his name and all his works and turning instead to whatever crazed comfort was offered them.
All right, so the end result wasn’t what you’d call advantageous to Yours Truly. But in this crazy god-eat-god world, you have to learn to move with the times. And when times are bad, when darkness comes, people always go back to fire. Fire never goes out of style. In time of war, in time of fear, fire is what unites us, huddled together around the glow of something warm and dangerous. Predictably, many of the Folk turned away from the gods of Asgard and started to worship me instead. They burnt their books to keep themselves warm; made firewalls against the night. Once more I had a new name – Loki Light-Bringer – and finally, I had some respect.
Up in Asgard, the General watched the collapse of the Middle Worlds. His birds were never far away, keeping watch, reporting home. In spite of the absence of Sun and Moon, I knew that he could see me. I bit my thumb at him from afar, grinning to myself. And then, one night . . .