Pyramid Power

Lodin grinned revealing good, solid pre-orthodontistry skew teeth. "Now that'll be a pleasure. He's changed, master. Not the same man at all that used to come down for a drink with me. And he was sick all over the chariot."

  "Chariot?" said Thor.

  Lodin looked wary. "Uh. Lady Sif said I wasn't to say anything about the chariot—after last time."

  Thor scowled. "I'm Öku-Thor. The charioteer. If I crash it, it's my look-out. Now get along to Valhöll with you! Try to come back sober enough to muck out here. And don't come and tell me what good beer they've got. I'm craving a drink really badly myself."

  Liz noticed that his hands were shaking quite a lot. She wondered just how you dealt with a god who was seeing snakes and pink elephants. Thor might be flabby, and have let himself go, but there was still a superhuman quality to him, besides the smell.

  "How about if we tried this sauna," she said determinedly, turning him. "And Lodin."

  He bowed. "Yes, Lady?"

  "Don't stay too long over those horns of ale. Please."

  He nodded, looking as if this were the first please ever to come his way, and turned toward the stable door, briskly.

  "Don't run. Slouch along like normal," said Thor. "You never know when those damned ravens of Odin's will see you."

  Dead on cue, two black birds fluttered in. "One of them said 'Odin,' Hugin. I heard it," said one of the two.

  Thor glowered at the birds. Liz was much more practical. She picked up a piece of broken yoke and hefted it for weight.

  "Caw! You wouldn't dare," said one of the ravens. "We are Odin's ravens."

  "I did earlier," said Liz. "Or have you forgotten the dragon's heart?"

  "Good eating," said the first raven. "You haven't got any more, have you?"

  "We've got a job to do, Hugin," protested the other raven. He sounded exasperated, as if his partner's greediness was a longstanding issue between them.

  "Yeah. Caw. Anything that says we can't eat on the job?" Hugin perched on a rafter. "You speak good raven for a human."

  "Ah," said Liz. "And there I thought you spoke good human for a raven."

  "If you can speak to them," rumbled Thor, "tell them if they're not out of my stable by the time I say Vanaheim, I'll try a lighting bolt on them."

  "Caw. He must be more hungover than usual. Come on, Munin. I'm not that interested in who Thor is drinking with."

  The ravens fluttered out with what looked to Liz like a careful show of not being too hasty but really moving rather fast.

  "They all spy on me," said Thor blackly.

  Liz could see why, even without suspicion about what the Krim was up to in this Ur-Mythworld. In a way it was a good thing Thor had a drinking problem. It was probably why he hadn't been recruited by the Krim. And the ravens turning up to see who Thor's "drinking buddies" were smacked of the gatekeeper telling tales. They walked back through to the great hall. Thor had a visible tremor in his hands and shoulders as he opened the door.

  Liz was surprised to see Marie putting a hand on his arm. "You can do it."

  He was panting a little. "It's bigger than me."

  And suddenly Liz realized that he wasn't exaggerating. And he was seeing snakes.

  So was she. Well. One snake. More like a dragon, but without wings. And quite big enough to make up for there only being one.

  It'd be a pink elephant next.

  It wasn't. It was a wolf. A wolf pretty close to the size of the elephant, though.

  Chapter 16

  "Magic has bound him. Magic has to be the way to free him," said Jerry. "And as you two can't do it, it does depend on me. Magic isn't exactly my field of expertise. I was looking for some advice."

  "And there I thought you were a gifted practitioner of Seid," said Loki mockingly.

  "Shut up, Loki," said Sigyn, with the amiability of a wife who has said this very often. "The mortal comes from another place and time. He is ignorant of many things. He probably doesn't even know what Seid is."

  "Um. No. Actually, I don't."

  "Don't you dare say 'I told you so,' Sigi," said Loki ruefully. "Seid, Jerry, is a magical art practiced by Odin, and by women, because it would be a dishonorable thing for men."

  Jerry raised an eyebrow. "But okay for Odin?"

  "Well," said Loki. "He is the oathbreaker. Maybe he feels no need of such honor."

  If Jerry had it right that was an insult of rare order for one of the Norse.

  "Maybe he's just a bearded lady," said Jerry lightly.

  He sat down rapidly. He had to. Loki was making the floor shake with his laughter. Sigyn was laughing too, so much so that she was actually crying.

  Jerry tried to work this one out. Someone had once said to him that the Norse had been a homophobic culture, and argued that was what accounted for the disdain in which Loki was held for his various cross-sexual shape changes. He'd been the mare that had lured the giant builder's stallion away, causing the giant to lose his deal on the building of Asgard's giant-proof walls. The result was Odin's eight-legged horse.

  That was a less than clinching argument, Jerry thought, given that Odin still seemed pretty keen on the horse. But one thing was certain: Women were second-class citizens in the honor stakes—hence allowed to use this "Seid"—and honor was everything in this social milieu. The image of the master of Asgard as a bearded lady obviously had appeal.

  "If only I had thought of that when I gave the Æsir their flyting," said Loki. "I mocked them well, but that's a rich insult. For that and that alone I would give you what help I can. But not with Seid. There are other arts."

  Jerry looked at the tear on the cheek of Sigyn—and began to put it all together.

  "I think . . ."

  "No! Thor did that once and his head caught fire," said Loki mischievously.

  "I thought you were going to help me?" said Jerry, head askance. He got the feeling that once Loki got into this frame of mind he would only stop . . . too late. Best stop him before he started.

  "Ah. A point," admitted Loki, readily . . . too easily, contrite. "What help can I be?"

  Jerry turned to Sigyn. "Lady Sigyn. Would you give me some of your tears?"

  She blinked, and touched her cheek. "You are less ignorant of magical things than you would have us think, Jerry."

  The secondary symbolism of tears, especially tears of laughter, liberating things, had not occurred to Jerry until that moment. He'd actually been thinking of salty water. And rust. But Norse mythology and poetry was full of multiple symbolism, so their magic was bound to be also.

  Jerry collected some of Sigyn's tears onto a quarter he found in his pocket. It wasn't a lot of liquid, but it would have to do—since the only other possible container was being used to catch snake-venom.

  He wanted all the elements of rapid oxidation: salty water, heat, and rust itself. He felt around for the thongs that had tied him. Symbolic again, if he could get them to burn again by sticking them in the fire.

  Rust . . . well, rust would just have to be rust. Ideally it should have come from a broken shackle, but rust would affect everything. He'd just paint it in that shape. And the Futhark . . .

  The runes had each had meanings, evolving much as hieroglyphics had into hieratic script. "I need the runes for water and time—or days. And chants. You can tell me who to appeal to."

  "A good sorcerer in the making," said Loki. "Vidólf was the mother of all witches, Svarthöfdi the father of sorcerers. And Sigyn will show you Dagaz and Laguz, the runes for water and days."

  She scratched them out.

  "This one is 'day.' And this one is 'water.' "

  "Years?" asked Jerry.

  She showed him another, and then added a fourth. "And this one is 'Ansuz,' which could be useful too."

  She said the last with an absolutely straight face. Even Jerry, normally oblivious to hints, could catch an elephant like that. He began to draw the runes, scratched into the rust on the iron bonds. A great many years. And fair amount of water, drawn with tear-wetnes
s, and, using the burned ends of the thong, the symbol Ansuz. He hoped that it would give him some, and that he wasn't just being stupid. But Loki's silence was telling. The mischief-god was the original motormouth. He was so quiet it was hard to tell if he was even breathing. And both he and Sigyn were staring with a fierce intensity at Jerry.

  Jerry just hoped that his hair wouldn't catch fire before it was all done. To judge by the sagas, the spells would be in verse. Probably sung . . .

  Well, he'd better pass on that part. His singing was good—if compared to Liz's. She sang in the bath. Fortunately, he'd never really liked the tiles in that room anyway.

  "Svarhöfdi, spell master,

  Dagaz passing ever faster,

  Make us Vidólf wise,

  reduce and oxidize

  Rust!

  Laguz, tears sweet and salt

  mix with iron, mend the fault

  Blood tie broken be by water

  liberation from the child's slaughter.

  Rust!

  Rust consume, heat, eat and devour

  Iron bonds as if the second was an hour

  turn pure metal to our side

  Make of it an iron oxide

  Rust!"

  It was lousy poetry, but not too bad for the spur of the moment, he thought.

  He took the little pocket diary, which was now thicker than it used to be since vellum was thicker than paper, and was inscribed with runes. He used his thumb to flick the pages over—a symbolic passage of days. The smoldering thong burst into flames, and somehow water dripped from the runes he'd painted.

  The iron that bound Loki flaked red. And flaked again. And burst with erupting splinters of rust.

  Loki sat up suddenly with a small crow of delight, his bonds falling into red dust. "Free! Free at last. Let Asgard quake!"

  Now his eyes blazed with a truly inhuman glee, which, as he definitely wasn't human, was as it should be. It was also rather alarming, when you were stuck in a hole with him that wasn't more than twenty by twenty feet wide.

  Sure enough, his first act showed that even by accident Loki's thoughtlessness was a danger to himself and everyone else. He hugged Sigyn—and nearly upset the bowl of venom over the two of them.

  "Careful!" Sigyn shrieked, trying to hold the slopping bowl away from the two of them and nearly dousing Jerry instead.

  Loki backed off, and then ducked because the snake spat at his face. The serpent, heretofore almost dormant except for the dripping venom, was coming to life. Loki tripped over the slabs he'd been bound to, and fell flat on his back.

  "He hasn't changed much," said Sigyn, smiling broadly.

  To prove that he could still change, the god blurred—and a mouse skittered across the floor.

  That was too much for the snake. When had it last had a tasty mouse? Even a mouse with Loki-eyes?

  It flung itself off the rock shelf and down onto the pit-floor; then, across the floor at the mouse-prey. Jerry desperately looked for something to deal with the huge snake. Why did Loki have to be some damned precipitate? Jerry was sure that, if he could work out spells to deal with iron bonds, he could have come up with something for snakes.

  The snake struck. It struck so hard that it hit the wall, and bounced back slightly stunned.

  It had missed its prey, which was surprising in a way, because the prey was now a lot larger. The hawk still had Loki's eyes. It also had its talons dug firmly into the snake's neck, just behind the head. Sigyn calmly stepped onto the snake's tail as the snake attempted to lash that up and around the hawk.

  Loki changed again, back into himself. He was still holding the snake behind the head. Now, with the other hand he grasped it behind Sigyn's foot, and held it aloft. He grinned at them. "Roast snake, anyone?"

  "You might tell me next time," said Jerry, keeping a good safe distance.

  Loki shrugged, still smiling. "It is that way with me, I'm afraid, my sorcerer friend. I tend to act first and think later. It has gotten me into a fair amount of trouble over the years."

  That was in character, Jerry supposed. Trouble and Loki would never be that far apart. The secret was to avoid having trouble with Loki when he turned nasty.

  Sigyn shook head ruefully. "That is true enough. Now what are you going to do with that snake?"

  "Spit in its eyes?" suggested Loki.

  "Dash its brains out," said the more practical Sigyn.

  "I thought I might save it and put it down Skadi's front," said Loki evilly.

  "Huh. She'd probably enjoy that. They're her pets, Loki. Kill it and be done with it."

  He did, with a whip-crack. He used the snake itself as the whip, which was singularly effective if not something Jerry ever wanted to try himself. Uncle Fox was a lot stronger than he looked. He could have broken the bonds had they just been made of iron, and not magic.

  "Now why don't you transform yourself and fly out and drop us a rope?" suggested Jerry, as if such shape-changing was something he saw every day. That was one thing about the Mythworlds—you became quite numb to the impossible.

  "A good thought," said Loki, blurring again. The hawk flew upwards . . . and stopped.

  Loki dropped down. "Not quite so easy. And not knowing the nature of the spell Odin has set there will make it harder. Oh, well. Roast snake while we wait for Skadi? She won't be long, now that her pet is dead."

  "Better that you go and lie on the slabs again and pretend to still be bound," said Sigyn.

  Loki nodded. "I'll put the snake back on the rock-shelf, and lie in wait for our huntress." He looked at Jerry. "You'd better contrive some kind of binding for the bitch, friend sorcerer."

  "And take cover," said Sigyn. "She's nearly as strong as Thrúd."

  Jerry sincerely wished that he could follow either instruction. There really wasn't any cover, and as for a binding . . .

  Loki plainly wanted him to come up with some kind of magic, and right now his mind was a perfect blank. All he could think of was how nice some handcuffs and a secure cell would be. He could have hidden in the cell.

  True to Sigyn's prediction, Skadi was not long in coming. And the giantess daughter of Thjazi was not a small woman. Actually, she wouldn't have been a small man, either. She took one look at her snake and reached into her girdle—for another.

  Sigyn gave her a bowl full of venom right in the eyes.

  And then things got really ugly.

  Skadi plainly couldn't see. She was screaming, both in pain and rage. Neither stopped her from attacking them. There wasn't a lot of room to dodge. Loki attempted to grab her, and got himself knocked back against the wall. Sigyn threw the empty bowl at her head and it shattered. That didn't seem to give Skadi any pause at all. Loki grabbed the dead snake and flung it around her neck and started trying to throttle her with it. Skadi grabbed the snake also and was doing her best to pull it off her neck. The snake from her girdle had escaped and was now cornering Sigyn. The two fighters had staggered close to the fire, and were now standing next to it. Which one would win—or whether the body of the snake would give first—was a moot question. The snake certainly was no normal creature or it would already have been torn in half.