More Tainted!
I do feel for poor Catherine. She just can't catch a break. XD
I confess to not quite knowing how I would exact any sort of vengeance upon Loki at that moment. I had no thought for who and what he was, or the wisdom to tread lightly in my quest. All I desired was the truth of why a god- and a god such as he- had seen fit to use me as his pawn. There would be time for wisdom later.
After I had collected myself Vinnie was summoned elsewhere, much to his dismay. I knew he was concerned for me. This was not easy news for one to accept without support. Yet the rage within was so powerful, so commanding, that I parted his company with assurances of my well-being that, while not entirely truthful, carried enough conviction he could not question it. And so, sustained by my anger, I determined to find a way, any way, into Asgard.
Fortune remained my ally, for Thor lingered in this realm for three more days. Each night ended with the slaughter and consumption of his goats, and each morn brought about their resurrection. The final night, after everyone else had retired, and Thor's servants had dutifully laid the bones upon the goat skins, I crept to the grove of trees where they rested. My hand trembled, only slightly, as I took up a small piece, cracked it open and consumed the marrow. Once finished I set the bone back down and returned to my quarters. I spent the night watching the sky gradually lighten, the pounding of my heart so loud, so strong, it reverberated throughout my whole being.
Dawn was greeted with an angry bellow that flushed us all from our beds. I made certain to linger in the back of the crowd, my face an exact mirror of the concern and, aye, fear, at the scene unfolding before us. Thor stomped back and forth, raging at the much taller Dionysus who, I noted, reacted to such bad temper with the blandest of expressions.
“Trickery!” Thor shouted, thrusting his hammer in the direction of his lame goat. The poor beast bleated pitifully. “I will have who broke their oath against eating the marrow!”
“I offer my deepest apologies, Thor,” Dionysus said calmly. “But if the marrow has been consumed, I very much doubt you will find it simply lying about.”
“I do not seek what I cannot retrieve,” Thor snapped in a fury. His eyes raked over the crowd. After a moment he signaled three of us, myself included. “You there, come forth! I recall your faces. You served drinks for us,” he recounted as we stepped forward, huddled together like children awaiting punishment.
He lifted Mjolnir, slowly passed it over our faces. “Tell it straightaway and tell it true- was there trickery about last night?”
The two servants said nothing. Their fear was understandable. I should have felt the same but I did not. A curious calm had befallen me, enabling me to watch Thor and gauge the level of retribution I would receive upon my confession.
Such a thing soon proved unnecessary, for a wood nymph pointed at me and cried out, “Was she who ate the marrow! I know, I saw!”
Thor rounded on her. The others crowding her dispersed like frightened birds, leaving her quite alone to face his questions. “You are certain?”
“Aye,” she said. “I live in the grove of trees where you lay the bones. Was she.”
When Thor turned his heated gaze to me I distinctly recalled how violent a temperament he possessed. Courage rose up from the rage, and I bowed my head in deference. “Forgive me,” I said in a small voice. “I have many fond memories of great feasts with my family. My father always saved the best bones for me. I had missed the taste of marrow.”
“I care not for your mortal excuses, woman,” Thor retorted. “You have violated a pact between your master and I. It will not go unpunished.”
“Indeed not,” Dionysus assured him. He made a slight, almost disinterested gesture, for me. “Take the woman as payment for this insult. I am told she is a good servant, provided she not be entrusted to serving at table.”
Thor did not look very willing to accept me. Once more I called forth from the wellspring of courage born from anger. Sinking to my knees, I said, “Please, let me make amends. I swear to be a good servant, my lord. Were I to clean the floors of Bilskirnir itself I would consider it the greatest of honors.”
Mention of his hall softened his face, if only by the smallest of margins.
“You speak of my home as if it were yours. Do you know Asgard, then? Of its heroes and feasts and gods? Its stories?”
“Yes, my lord,” I replied, excitement drumming through my veins. I then revealed all I knew, from the creation of the realms, of Yggdrasil, to the war between the Aesir and Vanir, and how it unified the gods. It was a most difficult telling, for Mother's memory danced in my mind, bringing with it emotions so great the ache of wanting to weep held fast to me.
“Well,” Thor said once my tale concluded. Pride and pleasure at the accuracy of my knowledge shone in his eyes. “It seems I have gained not only a new servant- a foolish one at that- but a scholar of my home. What be your name, woman?”
“Catherine Caine,” I replied, wishing now, above all else, I could have spoken my father's name. The name carried with it the shackles of servitude forced upon me.
Thor nodded and signaled I could rise. As I stood he flashed a broad grin at Dionysus. “Very well, friend, I accept your token.”
“Excellent,” Dionysus replied with a cordial nod. “So shall you take your leave then?”
“Upon the morn,” Thor answered pleasantly. “All these stories I have heard has inspired a great thirst in me. What say you to another drinking contest?”
“Aye!” came Silenus' shout. He sat astride the small donkey, cup in hand and his eyes aglow with the promise of drinking. “Come, Thor, I'm ready for you!”
Thor laughed. “Another round, if you will, good Dionysus! Roskva, you and Catherine bring forth the cups. We drink!”
A great cheer rose up from the crowd as I followed Roskva to the chariot. Along the way I felt a sudden searing pain upon my palm. When I glanced down I discovered the seal of Dionysus had been replaced with Thor's hammer. I spent a moment gazing at it, suddenly overcome with remorse that I had won my way into Asgard by deceit.
It would not be the first, or last time, I saw similarities between myself and he whom I loathed.
***
The following morn I, along with my new lord, made haste from Elysium. I regretted the inability to leave a note of explanation for Vinnie, for Thor had been most impatient to be gone. Honesty compelled me to admit a shared sense of anxiety. My personal quest aside, the sense of awe I had embraced as a child lay claim to me, allowing the chance to forget, for a small while, the exact circumstances of my going to Asgard.
Thor steered his chariot down a winding pathway, calling hearty encouragements to his goats in one breath and casting bitter insults with the other, all while wearing a smile as excited as a child’s. Cramped between Pjalfi, Roskva and the numerous caskets of wine, I turned my gaze to the scenery in an attempt to distract myself from my discomfort. Elysium was truly a beautiful place. We passed plentiful gardens, white temples, and dozens of statues until the path abruptly ended. I held fast to the chariot sides, tensing in preparation for flight, for the fall.
Thor lifted Mjolnir overhead; as he did a shaft of light struck the empty space ahead. It swirled and churned like leaves caught in the wind. And from this column burst forth an arcing, colorful bridge that spanned the length of the sky. I stared in absolute awe. The Bifrost!
The goats jumped into the swirling column, lifting the chariot with speed and grace unexpected in such creatures. The Bifrost shone beneath us, glittering like gems strung along a chain of sunlight. As lovely as this sight was, it did not command my attention the same as what we were soaring over.
A series of jagged canyons lay beneath us, each crevice dramatically illuminated by fire. Foul wind blasted upward from these crevices, carrying with it noxious vapors and distant, pained screams. Near the middle of this primordial landscape stood a single, towering column of flat-topped rock. I spied Hades himself seated at the head of a long, black table laden with a plentiful meal. A dazzling young woman sat beside him, her skin so pale it seemed as if she were aglow.
There were other figures at this table, each as beastly, beautiful or otherworldly as the last, leading me to the conclusion that they represented the dark aspect to their respective paradises. The last to join this strange conclave appeared beside Hades. A tall woman, long-limbed and cloaked in tattered robes who moved with a peculiar, willowy grace that seemed out of place among those seated at the table. When she turned to respond to something Hades said, I glimpsed the horrid duality of her face- one side that of a living woman, the other a skull covered in red, glistening sinew- and knew at once I was gazing upon Hela, Goddess of the Underworld.
As Thor’s chariot soared overhead I noticed Hades look up and smile. Hela also turned her gaze to me. The moment our eyes met I felt as if my soul itself had been frozen inside me, and I hastily looked away, unsettled. Relief tempered my resolve, for soon Thor guided the chariot away from that place, and its dark secrets. I hoped never to look upon Hela again.
Higher and higher we ascended, multitudes of color whipping past us. I was quite dizzy by the sight; already my head had begun to ache, a far more profound pain than any I may have felt in life. But then the sky itself drew apart like a curtain, and I beheld Asgard for the first time.
I admit the scenery left me breathless at its beauty. Colors I had never before seen popped out all around, be they the leaves of trees, flowers, or the grand, sweeping buildings. I immediately identified the great halls of the gods, amazed anew at the accuracy of their description in the stories of old- Thor's own Bilskirnir far more beautiful and finer than even Odin's hall- and rejoiced to know I would soon be there.
People milled about on the streets, gods, heroes and the souls of mortals alike, their comings and goings a pleasant chatter to my ears. There had been no such camaraderie like this on Elysium, not even among the gods. Here in Asgard, all seemed merry. Alive.
Those witnessing Thor's passage hailed him. He answered all with a great roar of greeting, even flew low enough to grasp a tankard from a reveler. He downed the contents, dashed the cup to the ground with a boisterous cry. The tankard shattered. Witnesses cheered. I found myself laughing and smiling at their interactions. But as Thor turned for his hall, and I saw the children begin to take charge of the caskets of wine, my joy vanished. My experience in Asgard would not be at all what I dreamed.
Thor guided the chariot to the stable yard where the other servants stood at the ready. All were lined up in front of the entrance, not unlike instances when Lady Hampton returned from a venture. But it was the tall, golden-haired woman standing in front of them that captured my full attention. Splendidly dressed, with strong features and possessed of a slightly haughty demeanor, still Lady Sif had a smile for Thor as he touched down.
She nodded to the boy standing at attention beside her. “We bid you welcome home, my lord,” she greeted as Thor accepted the cup from the boy.
He gulped it down swiftly, smacked his lips loudly in appreciation. “Ah, 'tis no better cup than mine own after so long a journey,” he said, and dashed the cup to the ground. He then exited the chariot, approached Sif and swept her up into his arms. After sufficiently- and somewhat noisily, if one was to be rude- greeting his wife he drew back and smiled, quite pleased with himself. “My lady, you are, as always, the very best drink to pass these lips.”
“That is quite enough, you great lug,” Sif responded, pushing him away. But her cheeks were flushed like a young girl's, and by her smile alone I knew she was glad to see her husband returned.
I tried not to recall being just such a wife, and greeting her husband in just such a manner.
Thor laughed merrily. “Come, wife, we've many fine wines to add to our cellar,” he said, gesturing toward the chariot. At seeing Roskva and Pjalfi begin to unload I did as well, not wishing to appear indolent. “Dionysus was a most pleasant and generous host.”
“Generous to a fault it seems,” Sif observed with a shake of the head. “You have hardly consumed what stores we still possess.”
Thor's response was a broad, toothy smile. “Aye, but I have every intention of drinking these, and what we still possess.”
“No doubt all Asgard knows of your return. Perhaps we will see our collection diminished after all.” Sif's gaze then locked on me. I felt it as much as I saw it, so powerful was the presence she exuded. She carried herself with such strength I was quite intimidated and, like with Hela, quickly averted my gaze.
“And who is this?” she asked, an unmistakable edge in her voice. “Has Dionysus' generosity gone beyond wine to a companion to warm your sheets this night?”
Thor laughed, greatly amused. I turned away, my cheeks burning at her insinuation. I could not conceive of how a woman could willingly perform in such a manner, let alone envision myself as that woman. It was absurd.
“Sheathe your claws, wife. Dionysus has not made me such an offer since your displeasure with his first attempt is still remembered with great detail. Catherine Caine is our newest servant.”
“A servant, nothing,” Sif said in displeasure. “She is an indentured soul. I can see her chains. Husband, indentured souls are ill omens upon themselves. I will not have her in my home.”
A jolt of fear went through me. In forgetting the exact nature of my predicament, I had forgotten how others perceived indentured souls. I sent Thor an imploring look, hoping, begging, he defend me.
“Indentured souls are commonly associated with misfortune, 'tis true,” Thor reasoned. “But if we in Asgard can welcome Loki back among us, then I see no reason why we should bar our door to one such as Catherine.”
Mention of Loki's name soured Sif's expression. I had to keep my face neutral, for I dare not show my own anger at him before his equals.
At length she gave a resigned nod. “You speak the truth, my lord. Very well, she may remain. Catherine, come forward,” she ordered.
I hastened to obey. “My lady,” I breathed, dropping a curtsy. My knees were shaking, my relief was so profound.
“I am handing you over to my head of house, Alda,” she began, gesturing to the line of servants behind her. A much older woman emerged, dropped a swift, proper curtsy to her lady and turned her gaze to me, as if she were measuring my worth. At seeing the glimmer of distrust in her eyes I knew at once she had seen my shackles.
“She will assign you a bed, proper garb and where you are to report for duty. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lady,” I replied, curtseying again.
Sif gestured to the remaining servants; each gave cursory bows and silently departed. Sif and Thor started for the entrance as well, her arm linked with his. Roskva and Pjalfi trailed after bearing a casket of wine each.
Alda approached me, the ring of keys attached to her belt jingling noisily. “I hope you are as good at following my orders as you are Lady Sif's,” she said, her voice slightly accented and abruptly reminding me of Hilda. It was difficult not to react to it, or the powerful memories unfurling within me.
“I will not tolerate laziness or sloppy work. There is no quicker way to my displeasure, or Lady Sif's, as that,” she went on in imperious tones. I murmured a proper response, to which she acknowledged with a slight nod before turning her back to me. “Come along then, girl. We have some work to do.”
As we entered the house, I glimpsed Sif turn to Thor and say, in a low voice, “Your mention of Loki tells me you are aware he has returned to Asgard and to the All-father's favor.”
“Yes, he said as much when we met on Elysium,” Thor answered in distracted tones. He was watching Pjalfi stagger beneath the weight of a casket; I could almost hear him silently wishing the boy not drop it.
“Then you are also aware of the celebration the All-father wishes to honor him with,” Sif continued, displeasure evident in her voice.
This gained his full attention. “A celebration? Excellent news, wife!” Thor exulted. “When does it commence?”
“I am told within a fortnight. I shall have to assure Lady Frigg we will provide plenty of refreshment.”
“'Tis so!” Thor approved. “But what say you to sampling Dionysus' fine wine on a celebration for him tonight? Yes, let us do that!” he decided. “Loki was rather sour when we met; nothing sweetens a temperament better than good food and good wine.”
There was a flash of annoyance in her eyes, quickly banished. “If that is what you wish, husband, it shall be so,” Sif demurred.
Thor beamed. “Wonderful! Send forth a message to whatever hole he has seen fit to deem his hall. We feast tonight!”
Sif's response was lost as she and Thor entered a side chamber. Alda, clicking her tongue, barked an order for me to hurry, hurry! Somehow, despite the clenching of my stomach and the dread now weighing my legs down, I summoned the strength to follow her command. Down, down, a series of stone steps she took me, the echo of my footfalls matching the thudding of my heart.
Loki, celebrated here, this night? Powerful emotions coursed through me, but if they were born of excitement or terror, I could not rightly say.
***
I spent the remainder of the day helping prepare Thor's great hall for Loki's undeserved celebration. Due to my new status, Alda did not hesitate to set me to the meanest of tasks. In truth, I welcomed the hard work, for it allowed me to release my aggression with every log thrown to a fire, every push of the cleaning brush as I polished the floor. If Alda found herself pleased by my grim determination she did not say. The celebration had turned her thoughts from notice of a new scullery maid.
I soon discovered serving in Bilskirnir was not unlike the workings of a great house like Lady Hampton's; such familiarity was only part of the reason I slipped into my role with relative ease. There was another, more powerful master at work here: my obsession with learning the truth. As I watched the kitchen staff heap great helpings of food onto platters, and roll barrels of mead for the great hall, I ardently wished to be in possession of some truth-telling concoction to slip into Loki's cup. Honesty was not a virtue he practiced.
Dusk was fast approaching. The cook, a man so short and stocky I could easily believe he to be of Svartalfheim, swiftly dispatched the servants to their posts. As they filed out he turned to me, grimaced (he, too, shared Alda's distrust of indentured souls) and growled, “You there, hurry and fetch more logs for the pit in the hall. Lord Thor fancies a pig roast on top of the meal we've planned. Bring all the wood you can carry and be off as quickly as one of our lord's lightning bolts. Understand?”
Harsh condescension edged his tone. Biting back my irritation, I acknowledged his order with a curtsy and went off. As I ascended the stone steps, the heavy, smoke-filled air gave way for the sweet scents of treated wood, food and fresh air lightly perfumed with flowers. The kitchen stairs were set by a series of long windows, allowing me a breathtaking view of Asgard. I found my steps slowing, then ceasing altogether when I spied the Plains of Ida. Though no more than a flower-strewn meadow cutting between Gladsheim and Vingolf from this distance, there was an aura of light surrounding it so it glowed as white as moonlight. I could only just identify figures moving about the fields, astride two legs and four, shadowed by the small bodies of birds flitting about.
My hands tightened into fists. The full force of Loki's betrayal descended upon me, and I thought, I should be there. I belonged with Mother, and Father, Hilda...even my own unborn child. I soon lost myself in a pleasant vision of my parents rushing to welcome me, Hilda's face alight with love, my child- a son, for I had so longed for one- stumbling forward, crying out , Mama, Mama!
I saw my hand lift of its own accord, fingers outstretched, inches from lacing with those of my son's...
“Well, well, well,” remarked a voice that stiffened my spine. “I believed my senses had deceived me while on my sojourn to Elysium. It is a realm often given to hallucination, but no. I saw true that day, and you were truly standing there. At least until you collapsed.”
The casual reference to that terrible day, and its revelations, sparked my anger and I whirled around. Loki lay on a bench, an expression of amused delight on his sallow face. Time seemed to cease in that instant as we took measure of one another. I could not think past this, our first meeting since parting that morn as man and wife.
Loki smiled, very slightly. “What welcome is this?” he questioned, mockery in his tone. “Hardly the warm reception a husband can expect of his loving wife, do you not agree, Mrs. Caine?”
His words broke through the trance that held me in thrall. “I'll not hear that name addressed to me,” I snapped. “You've no right to it.”
“By my right, it is,” he said, smiling broader still. “For was it not I who gave this name to you? It would be unseemly to call you otherwise.”
I was so incensed by this time I likened myself to the string of a bow drawn too tight. “I would be much obliged if you called me nothing at all.”
“Oh, but where is the fun in that?” Loki asked, insolent as the most wretched of things. And he laughed.
I quivered head to foot. Anger clawed at my insides, threatening to rip me to pieces upon release. “Fun?” I echoed in a ragged gasp. I thrust my hands forward, showed him the shackles shimmering in the waning sunlight. I saw his swift, disinterested glance and grew angrier still. “This is as far from fun as you are from compassion. Look at them!” I cried. “I am cursed to wear these because of you. How dare you make a mockery of what I must endure!”
At this Loki lifted a cautioning finger. “Careful, Mrs. Caine,” he advised in mild tones. “You forget to whom you speak. I will allow it, however,” he added with another wretched smile. “I must say, I admire your tenacity. I had thought myself firmly rid of you, and here you are, by deceit no less! Well done, Mrs. Caine, well done!”
To hear my shame celebrated so stung me to the core. Somehow, I was able to speak over the tightness in my throat. “How did you know?”
Loki smiled again, and gestured. Instantly his shape changed to that that of the wood nymph's. “Was she, was she!” he crowed, and laughed.
The rage regained its hold on me. “So,” I murmured, “it was you. Why did you not prevent Thor from agreeing to the trade?” I demanded.
Another gesture, and Loki resumed his true shape. “I already answered that question, Mrs. Caine: I admired how far you were willing to go to achieve your ends. Now I wish to see where this jaunt of yours will take you next.” He stood then, made a sweeping, overly done bow. “I have a feeling this will prove a most pleasant diversion,” he pronounced before stepping into the shadows. He was gone in an instant.
I spent several moments staring at the space he once occupied, agonizing over the lost opportunity to further berate him for his callous behavior even as I reflected on his willingness to partake in my deception. Such thoughts were soon cast aside: Loki's motives for helping me were not a concern. I knew even if they were, he would be the last to give me a proper reason. Instead I focused on what he termed a pleasant diversion and resolved to wring the truth from him, one way or another. I had not come all this way to leave be.
***
My encounter with Loki had delayed my return, earning me a swift rebuke from the cook and a hasty order for one of the other servants to bring the firewood to the great hall. I was relegated to scrubbing pots and pans for my tardiness. I did not mind. It meant I would remain in the kitchens indefinitely. I was not ready to see Loki welcomed with open arms.
Soon enough I was alone. The pots and pans seemingly multiplied no matter how swiftly I worked. It was not until I became increasingly aware of the growing pile behind me that I determined it would be wise to put them away before they tumbled upon me- which is precisely what they did the instant I removed a pan nearer the top. My yelp was lost in the ringing cacophony of sound so harsh I clamped my hands over my ears.
When at last the ringing died down I heard a concerned voice call out, “Are you unhurt?”
Turning, I beheld a young, blonde girl in maid livery peering round the collection of cookware tumbled about. She had large blue eyes set in a round, child-like face; she could not have been any older than Vinnie. Quickly, she waded her way for me, a kind smile upon her lips. “You took a fright, is all,” she observed. “Come, let me help you put them away.” With that, she scooped some pots up and went unerringly to the proper cabinet, rack or hook.
“Lord Thor's celebrations always produce a lot of dirty pots. You will need the room,” she continued amiably. At seeing I had not moved she sent me a curious glance. “What is it?”
My body had tensed as if I were facing Loki again. “Why are you helping me?” I asked.
She furrowed her brow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Because I'm a-” I bit my lip, reluctant to say the words.
Understanding shone in her eyes. “It's all right,” she assured me softly. “I know what you are, and it is not my task nor right to judge you because of it. It's just that I know how difficult it can be when you're a new maid, and Alda can be quite the terrible mistress if you let her- oh!” she gasped suddenly. “You've gone white as a sheet! And you're shaking!”
The truth of it, I was shaking. Her words had struck such a deep, resonating chord within me I was astonished at how well I had conditioned myself to expect nothing but hostility from my masters and those around me. I could feel my chest tighten, my throat tense, face and eyes burn- all symptoms preceding the release of tears. But, as before, I remained at the cusp of weeping.
The maid's expression softened. “There, there,” she consoled, threading her way to my side and taking my hand. “My name is Ola. You are Catherine, correct? Come, sit down for a moment, gather your bearings. I will put these dishes away.”
As she spoke, I became acutely aware of the near-crippling weakness of my body- a sensation that harkened to the time I first learned of my death. And, as it had been then, I came very close to collapsing. Ola tightened her grip on my hand, I managed a wan smile, and she drew me to a nearby chair.
I sat in silence for a time, watching Ola's efficient skill at properly storing the cookware while I waited for the weakness to pass. She kept up a steady stream of conversation, even drew some laughter from me as she regaled me with tales of life at Bilskirnir. But the weakness persisted, and I said as much when she asked. Her gaze locked with mine, sympathy entering her eyes as I added, very quietly, “It's because I cannot cry, is it not?”
“That's part of it,” she replied. “I've also heard it said that indentured souls feel things differently than the rest of us. The shackles, you see,” she added, almost apologetically.
I nodded slowly. “Yes. They are the burdens we bear.”
“I suppose they are,” Ola answered hesitantly.
Weary of the topic, for dwelling on my shackles and why I wore them would only drain me again, I pushed myself to my feet. “I'll be all right,” I assured her with a small smile. I joined her by the sink. Dirty pots and pans had somehow manifested within during my rest. “How was it you came to Bilskirnir?”
Ola took up a pan and started washing it. She kept her eyes averted. “I was a sickly child,” she began. “I don't have many memories other than being in bed. I couldn't tell you where I was from, or how old I was when I died. It was so long ago.” Her face brightened, and she smiled faintly. “I do recall the way the curtains would flutter in the breeze, and the way my mother smelled. Lilac,” she reminisced. “That's what I remember at the last.”
A haunting memory of Mother's final hours briefly flashed in my mind. “Is that when you...?”
“Yes. At least, that is what my envoy told me.”
“Envoy?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, the wistfulness of her tale replaced with joy. “We all are escorted to paradise by an envoy of our chosen gods. My parents still worshiped the Norse gods, so mine was a beautiful woman of Asgard astride a white horse. It was she who brought me to Bilskirnir, and I have been serving here ever since. My lord Thor is a good man, and Lady Sif a generous woman. I hope one day to attend her, perhaps even see Lady Frigg's beautiful hall. I hear it has the best gardens in all Asgard.”
I could hear my own youthful idealism in Ola's tone, and bitterly cursed Loki for stealing that from me. “Can you eventually serve in another god's home?” I asked, taking a pan and setting it to dry on the counter before reaching for a second.
“Oh yes. If you are a good worker, and you maintain respect for your fellows and gods, it is possible to request a new assignment. I've seen Lady Sif grant such requests before. But I could never leave here. I am quite happy.” Ola peered at me for a moment; I could see curiosity warring with a desire not to offend in her eyes, and knew what she wanted to ask.
The sudden echo of a horn saved me from having to explain. Ola jumped like a startled deer at the sound and dropped her wash cloth. “Oh!” she gasped. “The banquet has begun! I must hurry back. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Catherine. I will see you later tonight,” she said, smiled and hurried from the room just as another blast from the horn sounded.
I waited until I heard the echo of her footsteps receded before I sighed and resumed my task.
The night wore on. Overhead, I could hear the muted sound of music, conversation and, at one instant, rapid footsteps that could only be a dance. The delightful images I conjured of merry making was soon darkened at envisioning Loki, smug and supreme as any monarch, smiling down at the revelry gathered to honor him while I toiled down here. Anger, swift as the rushing tide of a storm-tossed ocean, swept over me; in a rage I snatched up a pot and lifted it overhead with the want to throw it. I so longed to hear the rattling crash. But when I glimpsed my reflection, and beheld the flashing eyes and taut features, I sobered at once.
Is this what I was becoming? Had become? The thought chilled me.
The simple, mindless monotony of washing dishes provided a much-needed respite from my musings. Absently, I listened to the continued sounds of revelry above. I did not expect the celebration to let up until well after dawn. The steady stream of dishes had, thankfully, stopped, allowing me the opportunity to make my way to my assigned room and lay down for a bit.
It seemed only moments had passed before I felt someone gently shake my shoulder. Bleary eyed and slightly confused, I stared up into Ola's face. “What is it?” I asked groggily.
“Hurry, Catherine,” she said, traces of excitement in her voice. “Lord Thor wishes for everyone to be on hand to welcome Loki.”
I eased upright, all fatigue abandoning me as a jolt of energy coursed through me. “Is he not here?”
“Not yet. It's his way,” she explained at my frown. “He enjoys knowing we are all waiting on him. Lord Thor does not usually humor such things but tonight is different.”
Indeed, for Loki was the very reason for the night's entertainment. Able to keep the bitterness shielded from Ola's earnest face, I nodded, rose to my feet and followed her out.
Along the way upstairs we merged with the crowd of servants gathering in the hall. I heard Alda calling orders for everyone to line up accordingly. Ola and I were separated in the crush; as I hastily made my way to the back of the crowd where the lower servants stood, I glimpsed the long trestle tables laden with food and drink, and the ample crowd within the hall. Thor and Sif sat among their fellows, Thor red-faced and laughing with some guests, Sif smiling with the fond indulgence of a wife who knows she will be helping her husband to bed at night's end.
“Inside, everyone, quickly now!” Alda ordered, and we surged forth. My steps were not as swift as the rest, for the array of faces at table drew me to a near standstill: Tyr, Freyr, Idun, all drinking and making merry. Carefree. It was incredible to behold.
Alda's sharp command checked me. The instant I reached my assigned spot at the very end of the line, almost out of sight of the gods assembled within, Thor rose to his feet and signaled for silence. “Friends,” he began, hoisting his cup into the air and causing some of the contents to spill over the rim. “Thank you all for coming to sample my winnings-”
“And finer winnings, there has never been!” Tyr interrupted to a chorus of raucous laughter and shouts of hurrah. Thor acknowledged the remark with a great bellowing laugh of his own. The line of servants also chuckled. I kept my gaze fixed on the doorway that was now being drawn open by a pair of guards. Roskva and Pjalfi hurriedly rolled out a slender carpet leading from the door to where Thor now stood, then dropped out of sight. Another servant made his way down the line, presenting each with a glass and splashing some mead into it. I had just received mine when Thor resumed his speech.
“Tonight's celebration is not just to partake in my generosity. It is to welcome back one of our own. For too long he has been denied our halls, our hospitality. Friends, I ask that you now stand and lift your glasses as we open our arms and our hearts to the All-father's blood brother, Loki!”
Cups were lifted as one, from the guards standing at the entrance all along the line of servants. I held mine at chin level; I had no stomach to toast the Sly One. The entire room now watched the doors in great anticipation.
Moments passed. Someone coughed. Thor's hounds chewed noisily on their bones.
I saw Sif lean in close to Thor. “He makes mockery of a welcome designed for his benefit?” she hissed in a low voice, the cup she held aloft trembling just so.
Before Thor could answer a voice called out, “Not so,” and all present looked toward the back of the room. A pair of elegantly crafted chairs were set upon a small set of stairs, chairs I assumed Thor and Sif used when granting an audience. Loki reclined sideways in one of these chairs, hand at his chin and pleased smile on his face. I gripped the stem of my cup, very tightly.
A flicker of annoyance, quickly suppressed, crossed Sif's face. “Perhaps you would care to join us here, rather than observe the gathering from my chair.”
“Ah, would that I could, lady, for you see, the view is quite pleasant from here,” he riposted.
Ugly as he was, still his voice, his mannerisms, seemed to hold the entire room in thrall. Though reluctant to admit it, I found myself unable to look away from him. Those qualities he displayed now had been the very same that enchanted me when I only knew him as Thomas. I resented him all the more for it.
The gathering chuckled at the jest. Even Thor grinned.
Sif's smile was strained. “Loki-”
“Alas, as pleasant as it is,” he interrupted smoothly, “I much prefer the view from there.” He gestured for the tables. At that instant one of the guests turned round on the bench; as he did he changed into Loki, and the one seated on Sif's chair dissipated like fog. He lifted his glass, smiled at Thor and had the bad manners to drink to himself. No one else present considered it rude. The entire room erupted into thunderous applause, Thor's among the loudest. Even the servants cheered. I neither drank nor cheered. Sif, I saw, shared my sentiments.
“Well done, Loki,” Thor complimented when the applause ceased, and everyone resumed their seats to eat or drink. The same servant that had given us glasses appropriated them. “I see you have not lost your affinity for games during your time away.”
Loki finished off his drink and set the cup down. “And none of you have lost your affinity for participating during my time away,” he countered.
Thor laughed again, clapped him on the shoulder. “'Tis good to see you in such fine spirits. The celebration seems to have improved upon your mood.”
“This celebration, grand and as well deserved as it is, is only part of why I am so merry this night,” Loki replied grandly.
“Oh?” This from Sif, whose querying voice carried a hint of doubt. “And what is the other part?”
Loki's smile was small, secretive. “I shall say only this: something has quite recently come to my attention. It brightens my mood every moment I devote to the thought,” he replied, his gaze drifting to where I stood. I tensed.
“It must be a pleasant collection of thoughts if to make you smile like that,” Tyr observed, grinning. “Come, though- keep not secrets from us! Tell us of your trials in Midgard.”
Loki leaned against the table, hands idly dangling. “I am not so sure you would want to hear of them...”
Freyr, seated further down the table, called out, “Behaving as a coy woman does not suit you, Loki. I take oath you are burning to tell your tale. And we are a most eager audience,” he added with a sweeping gesture at the crowd.
A few others seconded Freyr's remark. I watched Loki draw out his mental debate as long as he could before he smiled and capitulated. The room cheered as he strode for the center of the floor. Behind him, a large pig was impaled on spits; when he passed by the flames rose as he took his place in front of the pit, sending the attendants backward with angry mutterings and abruptly reminding me of the other element Loki was often associated with.
Once he was certain the room watched him, Loki threw out his hands. As he did so, white and blue smoke manifested in the air, coiling around his body like wispy snakes. From these bands burst forth shadowy figures, vistas, towns, cities, roads. He launched into an engaging narrative that held all spellbound, including me. But as his story continued, the spell gradually loosened its hold on me.
The story he told, that of an embittered god finding redemption by performing good deeds for the people of Midgard, was nothing but a vile lie.
Astounded, I sought the faces of those around me, desperate to see if they, too, saw this tale for the farce it was. But I saw no such disbelief or doubt in anyone's eyes. If any had been there before, it was long gone now. Even Sif seemed to have let go of her suspicions.
When Loki finished his tale, and the last of his conjuring faded, Freyr clamored onto the bench and thrust his glass forward. His eyes were bright with emotion. “As I live and breath! Loki the Deceiver has truly changed! Let all Asgard know he is now Loki the Redeemed!”
Joyous cries of 'Loki the Redeemed!' rang through the hall. Thor hefted Mjolnir overhead. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed beyond the windows, as if summoned to carry the news. Among all this revelry, undeserved and unearned, stood the Sly One, the humble expression he favored unable to conceal the secret joy at hearing his name cried out so. Our eyes met and held; when he smiled I fled the room, no longer able to stomach such a dreadful scene. The memory of that leering smile chased me as close as my own shadow.
My staggering, unguided flight soon brought me to an empty chamber. I halted before the large window, turned my gaze to the star-streaked night sky. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, beating faster than it ever had in life. The echo reverberated through me like a clap of thunder. I felt nauseated. Dizzy. I gripped the back of a nearby chair for support. Heaviness settled upon me. Try as I might, I could not keep my balance. I dropped to the floor, head bowed, chest heaving. Darkness flitted at the edge of my perception.
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Caine. My tale was not so awful as that.”
That voice, hovering very close to my shoulder, drew me upright in an instant. Loki gazed over at me, hands folded on his lap, legs flung out before him. I scrambled away as quickly as my current state would allow. Gasping, overcome with emotion, I grabbed at the furniture for support. “Leave me be,” I hissed. “You have all Asgard at your feet. You need not find admiration where it is not welcomed.”
“I come not seeking admiration, only to remind you of where you are.”
“Leave me,” I repeated, hating how my weakened state had reduced me to begging.
He tutted. “A fine regard this is. Why, you are in Asgard, dear wife! A dream come to life if I may say. Once you accept it and be happy all will be well.”
I now sat across from him, my hands curled into fists on the floor. My arms trembled from the strain of sitting upright. “This is no dream, Loki. It is the cruelest nightmare!”
Loki sighed as if exasperated, or bored, or both. “Perhaps,” he conceded with no true sincerity. “However, I invite you to consider the benefits to be had of your situation: no longer are you to pay homage to some petty Greek god, but here, where you have always yearned to be. Little Kitty Chandler,” he said with a conspirator's smile, and I felt a chill course through my being. “All those nights imagining visiting the gods and the realms, of feasting in the great halls. The All-father welcoming you as a Valkyrie. That was always my favorite fantasy, if you must know. You, a chooser of the slain.”
Hearing him dash my most cherished memories to the ground, and with such derision, left me sickened, exposed.
“Stop,” I whispered. I trembled as if I were suddenly thrust into the heart of a snowstorm, cold winds and icy rain whipping about me. “Burden me with your wretchedness if you must, but do not sully my memories.”
“Ah,” he said, lifting a finger. “You have it, Mrs. Caine. Memories are what shapes a person, and you are in dire need of shaping.”
I turned away, weary of our exchange. “Just leave me be.”
“Hear me,” Loki said, rising to his feet and approaching me in a few short strides. His smile was much too smug for my liking. “In life, you were sweet, docile, even tempered, obedient. In short, Kitty Chandler was a dreadful bore. Oh, Catherine Caine was no better,” he added, ignoring my heated glare, and my attempts to fend him off when he quite suddenly seized my hands. “Turn your thoughts to that day we met. Your very soul cried out for change, and I gave it to you.”
At last I jerked free from his grasp. “How dare you!” I spat, my voice husky with rage. “I've no reason to thank you for this. You ruined my life!”
Loki smiled, very slightly. His eyes gleamed. “So passionate. So angry. Such a pleasant change from that pathetic, sniveling woman hiding in her past.”
At last, at long last, anger exploded from me, violent as a storm. “You bastard!” I cried, lunging for him. Loki caught my fist, forced it behind my back as he drew me against him. His other hand stroked my hair, mocking in its tenderness. I tried to twist free, breath coming fast. “Release me at once.”
“Release you?” he repeated, as if amused. “No, Mrs. Caine.” Leaning so his mouth pressed close to my ear, he whispered, “You are marked by Loki. You shall never be free of it,” he promised, squeezing my wrist for emphasis.
Somehow, I managed to drive my other hand between us and forced us apart. I raked my hair away from my face, my teeth clenching as I rasped, “I hate you for what you've done to me. I will always hate you!”
Loki smiled, and performed a mocking bow. “Then hate me as you will, Mrs. Caine. You shall have an eternity to do so,” he stated, and vanished into the shadows.
The instant he was gone I collapsed. Once more I was at the mercy of my volatile emotions and the violent wracking that now threatened to rattle my very bones loose. The ragged, gasping sounds I made seemed not to come from me, but something else altogether. At hearing traces of distant laughter echoing in the darkness I pressed my hands to my ears. This was not the Asgard I envisioned. This gilded hall where a creature such as Loki walked could only be Hel, and I was deeply entrenched within it.
No way out. No way home. No way back.
I confess to not quite knowing how I would exact any sort of vengeance upon Loki at that moment. I had no thought for who and what he was, or the wisdom to tread lightly in my quest. All I desired was the truth of why a god- and a god such as he- had seen fit to use me as his pawn. There would be time for wisdom later.
After I had collected myself Vinnie was summoned elsewhere, much to his dismay. I knew he was concerned for me. This was not easy news for one to accept without support. Yet the rage within was so powerful, so commanding, that I parted his company with assurances of my well-being that, while not entirely truthful, carried enough conviction he could not question it. And so, sustained by my anger, I determined to find a way, any way, into Asgard.
Fortune remained my ally, for Thor lingered in this realm for three more days. Each night ended with the slaughter and consumption of his goats, and each morn brought about their resurrection. The final night, after everyone else had retired, and Thor's servants had dutifully laid the bones upon the goat skins, I crept to the grove of trees where they rested. My hand trembled, only slightly, as I took up a small piece, cracked it open and consumed the marrow. Once finished I set the bone back down and returned to my quarters. I spent the night watching the sky gradually lighten, the pounding of my heart so loud, so strong, it reverberated throughout my whole being.
Dawn was greeted with an angry bellow that flushed us all from our beds. I made certain to linger in the back of the crowd, my face an exact mirror of the concern and, aye, fear, at the scene unfolding before us. Thor stomped back and forth, raging at the much taller Dionysus who, I noted, reacted to such bad temper with the blandest of expressions.
“Trickery!” Thor shouted, thrusting his hammer in the direction of his lame goat. The poor beast bleated pitifully. “I will have who broke their oath against eating the marrow!”
“I offer my deepest apologies, Thor,” Dionysus said calmly. “But if the marrow has been consumed, I very much doubt you will find it simply lying about.”
“I do not seek what I cannot retrieve,” Thor snapped in a fury. His eyes raked over the crowd. After a moment he signaled three of us, myself included. “You there, come forth! I recall your faces. You served drinks for us,” he recounted as we stepped forward, huddled together like children awaiting punishment.
He lifted Mjolnir, slowly passed it over our faces. “Tell it straightaway and tell it true- was there trickery about last night?”
The two servants said nothing. Their fear was understandable. I should have felt the same but I did not. A curious calm had befallen me, enabling me to watch Thor and gauge the level of retribution I would receive upon my confession.
Such a thing soon proved unnecessary, for a wood nymph pointed at me and cried out, “Was she who ate the marrow! I know, I saw!”
Thor rounded on her. The others crowding her dispersed like frightened birds, leaving her quite alone to face his questions. “You are certain?”
“Aye,” she said. “I live in the grove of trees where you lay the bones. Was she.”
When Thor turned his heated gaze to me I distinctly recalled how violent a temperament he possessed. Courage rose up from the rage, and I bowed my head in deference. “Forgive me,” I said in a small voice. “I have many fond memories of great feasts with my family. My father always saved the best bones for me. I had missed the taste of marrow.”
“I care not for your mortal excuses, woman,” Thor retorted. “You have violated a pact between your master and I. It will not go unpunished.”
“Indeed not,” Dionysus assured him. He made a slight, almost disinterested gesture, for me. “Take the woman as payment for this insult. I am told she is a good servant, provided she not be entrusted to serving at table.”
Thor did not look very willing to accept me. Once more I called forth from the wellspring of courage born from anger. Sinking to my knees, I said, “Please, let me make amends. I swear to be a good servant, my lord. Were I to clean the floors of Bilskirnir itself I would consider it the greatest of honors.”
Mention of his hall softened his face, if only by the smallest of margins.
“You speak of my home as if it were yours. Do you know Asgard, then? Of its heroes and feasts and gods? Its stories?”
“Yes, my lord,” I replied, excitement drumming through my veins. I then revealed all I knew, from the creation of the realms, of Yggdrasil, to the war between the Aesir and Vanir, and how it unified the gods. It was a most difficult telling, for Mother's memory danced in my mind, bringing with it emotions so great the ache of wanting to weep held fast to me.
“Well,” Thor said once my tale concluded. Pride and pleasure at the accuracy of my knowledge shone in his eyes. “It seems I have gained not only a new servant- a foolish one at that- but a scholar of my home. What be your name, woman?”
“Catherine Caine,” I replied, wishing now, above all else, I could have spoken my father's name. The name carried with it the shackles of servitude forced upon me.
Thor nodded and signaled I could rise. As I stood he flashed a broad grin at Dionysus. “Very well, friend, I accept your token.”
“Excellent,” Dionysus replied with a cordial nod. “So shall you take your leave then?”
“Upon the morn,” Thor answered pleasantly. “All these stories I have heard has inspired a great thirst in me. What say you to another drinking contest?”
“Aye!” came Silenus' shout. He sat astride the small donkey, cup in hand and his eyes aglow with the promise of drinking. “Come, Thor, I'm ready for you!”
Thor laughed. “Another round, if you will, good Dionysus! Roskva, you and Catherine bring forth the cups. We drink!”
A great cheer rose up from the crowd as I followed Roskva to the chariot. Along the way I felt a sudden searing pain upon my palm. When I glanced down I discovered the seal of Dionysus had been replaced with Thor's hammer. I spent a moment gazing at it, suddenly overcome with remorse that I had won my way into Asgard by deceit.
It would not be the first, or last time, I saw similarities between myself and he whom I loathed.
***
The following morn I, along with my new lord, made haste from Elysium. I regretted the inability to leave a note of explanation for Vinnie, for Thor had been most impatient to be gone. Honesty compelled me to admit a shared sense of anxiety. My personal quest aside, the sense of awe I had embraced as a child lay claim to me, allowing the chance to forget, for a small while, the exact circumstances of my going to Asgard.
Thor steered his chariot down a winding pathway, calling hearty encouragements to his goats in one breath and casting bitter insults with the other, all while wearing a smile as excited as a child’s. Cramped between Pjalfi, Roskva and the numerous caskets of wine, I turned my gaze to the scenery in an attempt to distract myself from my discomfort. Elysium was truly a beautiful place. We passed plentiful gardens, white temples, and dozens of statues until the path abruptly ended. I held fast to the chariot sides, tensing in preparation for flight, for the fall.
Thor lifted Mjolnir overhead; as he did a shaft of light struck the empty space ahead. It swirled and churned like leaves caught in the wind. And from this column burst forth an arcing, colorful bridge that spanned the length of the sky. I stared in absolute awe. The Bifrost!
The goats jumped into the swirling column, lifting the chariot with speed and grace unexpected in such creatures. The Bifrost shone beneath us, glittering like gems strung along a chain of sunlight. As lovely as this sight was, it did not command my attention the same as what we were soaring over.
A series of jagged canyons lay beneath us, each crevice dramatically illuminated by fire. Foul wind blasted upward from these crevices, carrying with it noxious vapors and distant, pained screams. Near the middle of this primordial landscape stood a single, towering column of flat-topped rock. I spied Hades himself seated at the head of a long, black table laden with a plentiful meal. A dazzling young woman sat beside him, her skin so pale it seemed as if she were aglow.
There were other figures at this table, each as beastly, beautiful or otherworldly as the last, leading me to the conclusion that they represented the dark aspect to their respective paradises. The last to join this strange conclave appeared beside Hades. A tall woman, long-limbed and cloaked in tattered robes who moved with a peculiar, willowy grace that seemed out of place among those seated at the table. When she turned to respond to something Hades said, I glimpsed the horrid duality of her face- one side that of a living woman, the other a skull covered in red, glistening sinew- and knew at once I was gazing upon Hela, Goddess of the Underworld.
As Thor’s chariot soared overhead I noticed Hades look up and smile. Hela also turned her gaze to me. The moment our eyes met I felt as if my soul itself had been frozen inside me, and I hastily looked away, unsettled. Relief tempered my resolve, for soon Thor guided the chariot away from that place, and its dark secrets. I hoped never to look upon Hela again.
Higher and higher we ascended, multitudes of color whipping past us. I was quite dizzy by the sight; already my head had begun to ache, a far more profound pain than any I may have felt in life. But then the sky itself drew apart like a curtain, and I beheld Asgard for the first time.
I admit the scenery left me breathless at its beauty. Colors I had never before seen popped out all around, be they the leaves of trees, flowers, or the grand, sweeping buildings. I immediately identified the great halls of the gods, amazed anew at the accuracy of their description in the stories of old- Thor's own Bilskirnir far more beautiful and finer than even Odin's hall- and rejoiced to know I would soon be there.
People milled about on the streets, gods, heroes and the souls of mortals alike, their comings and goings a pleasant chatter to my ears. There had been no such camaraderie like this on Elysium, not even among the gods. Here in Asgard, all seemed merry. Alive.
Those witnessing Thor's passage hailed him. He answered all with a great roar of greeting, even flew low enough to grasp a tankard from a reveler. He downed the contents, dashed the cup to the ground with a boisterous cry. The tankard shattered. Witnesses cheered. I found myself laughing and smiling at their interactions. But as Thor turned for his hall, and I saw the children begin to take charge of the caskets of wine, my joy vanished. My experience in Asgard would not be at all what I dreamed.
Thor guided the chariot to the stable yard where the other servants stood at the ready. All were lined up in front of the entrance, not unlike instances when Lady Hampton returned from a venture. But it was the tall, golden-haired woman standing in front of them that captured my full attention. Splendidly dressed, with strong features and possessed of a slightly haughty demeanor, still Lady Sif had a smile for Thor as he touched down.
She nodded to the boy standing at attention beside her. “We bid you welcome home, my lord,” she greeted as Thor accepted the cup from the boy.
He gulped it down swiftly, smacked his lips loudly in appreciation. “Ah, 'tis no better cup than mine own after so long a journey,” he said, and dashed the cup to the ground. He then exited the chariot, approached Sif and swept her up into his arms. After sufficiently- and somewhat noisily, if one was to be rude- greeting his wife he drew back and smiled, quite pleased with himself. “My lady, you are, as always, the very best drink to pass these lips.”
“That is quite enough, you great lug,” Sif responded, pushing him away. But her cheeks were flushed like a young girl's, and by her smile alone I knew she was glad to see her husband returned.
I tried not to recall being just such a wife, and greeting her husband in just such a manner.
Thor laughed merrily. “Come, wife, we've many fine wines to add to our cellar,” he said, gesturing toward the chariot. At seeing Roskva and Pjalfi begin to unload I did as well, not wishing to appear indolent. “Dionysus was a most pleasant and generous host.”
“Generous to a fault it seems,” Sif observed with a shake of the head. “You have hardly consumed what stores we still possess.”
Thor's response was a broad, toothy smile. “Aye, but I have every intention of drinking these, and what we still possess.”
“No doubt all Asgard knows of your return. Perhaps we will see our collection diminished after all.” Sif's gaze then locked on me. I felt it as much as I saw it, so powerful was the presence she exuded. She carried herself with such strength I was quite intimidated and, like with Hela, quickly averted my gaze.
“And who is this?” she asked, an unmistakable edge in her voice. “Has Dionysus' generosity gone beyond wine to a companion to warm your sheets this night?”
Thor laughed, greatly amused. I turned away, my cheeks burning at her insinuation. I could not conceive of how a woman could willingly perform in such a manner, let alone envision myself as that woman. It was absurd.
“Sheathe your claws, wife. Dionysus has not made me such an offer since your displeasure with his first attempt is still remembered with great detail. Catherine Caine is our newest servant.”
“A servant, nothing,” Sif said in displeasure. “She is an indentured soul. I can see her chains. Husband, indentured souls are ill omens upon themselves. I will not have her in my home.”
A jolt of fear went through me. In forgetting the exact nature of my predicament, I had forgotten how others perceived indentured souls. I sent Thor an imploring look, hoping, begging, he defend me.
“Indentured souls are commonly associated with misfortune, 'tis true,” Thor reasoned. “But if we in Asgard can welcome Loki back among us, then I see no reason why we should bar our door to one such as Catherine.”
Mention of Loki's name soured Sif's expression. I had to keep my face neutral, for I dare not show my own anger at him before his equals.
At length she gave a resigned nod. “You speak the truth, my lord. Very well, she may remain. Catherine, come forward,” she ordered.
I hastened to obey. “My lady,” I breathed, dropping a curtsy. My knees were shaking, my relief was so profound.
“I am handing you over to my head of house, Alda,” she began, gesturing to the line of servants behind her. A much older woman emerged, dropped a swift, proper curtsy to her lady and turned her gaze to me, as if she were measuring my worth. At seeing the glimmer of distrust in her eyes I knew at once she had seen my shackles.
“She will assign you a bed, proper garb and where you are to report for duty. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lady,” I replied, curtseying again.
Sif gestured to the remaining servants; each gave cursory bows and silently departed. Sif and Thor started for the entrance as well, her arm linked with his. Roskva and Pjalfi trailed after bearing a casket of wine each.
Alda approached me, the ring of keys attached to her belt jingling noisily. “I hope you are as good at following my orders as you are Lady Sif's,” she said, her voice slightly accented and abruptly reminding me of Hilda. It was difficult not to react to it, or the powerful memories unfurling within me.
“I will not tolerate laziness or sloppy work. There is no quicker way to my displeasure, or Lady Sif's, as that,” she went on in imperious tones. I murmured a proper response, to which she acknowledged with a slight nod before turning her back to me. “Come along then, girl. We have some work to do.”
As we entered the house, I glimpsed Sif turn to Thor and say, in a low voice, “Your mention of Loki tells me you are aware he has returned to Asgard and to the All-father's favor.”
“Yes, he said as much when we met on Elysium,” Thor answered in distracted tones. He was watching Pjalfi stagger beneath the weight of a casket; I could almost hear him silently wishing the boy not drop it.
“Then you are also aware of the celebration the All-father wishes to honor him with,” Sif continued, displeasure evident in her voice.
This gained his full attention. “A celebration? Excellent news, wife!” Thor exulted. “When does it commence?”
“I am told within a fortnight. I shall have to assure Lady Frigg we will provide plenty of refreshment.”
“'Tis so!” Thor approved. “But what say you to sampling Dionysus' fine wine on a celebration for him tonight? Yes, let us do that!” he decided. “Loki was rather sour when we met; nothing sweetens a temperament better than good food and good wine.”
There was a flash of annoyance in her eyes, quickly banished. “If that is what you wish, husband, it shall be so,” Sif demurred.
Thor beamed. “Wonderful! Send forth a message to whatever hole he has seen fit to deem his hall. We feast tonight!”
Sif's response was lost as she and Thor entered a side chamber. Alda, clicking her tongue, barked an order for me to hurry, hurry! Somehow, despite the clenching of my stomach and the dread now weighing my legs down, I summoned the strength to follow her command. Down, down, a series of stone steps she took me, the echo of my footfalls matching the thudding of my heart.
Loki, celebrated here, this night? Powerful emotions coursed through me, but if they were born of excitement or terror, I could not rightly say.
***
I spent the remainder of the day helping prepare Thor's great hall for Loki's undeserved celebration. Due to my new status, Alda did not hesitate to set me to the meanest of tasks. In truth, I welcomed the hard work, for it allowed me to release my aggression with every log thrown to a fire, every push of the cleaning brush as I polished the floor. If Alda found herself pleased by my grim determination she did not say. The celebration had turned her thoughts from notice of a new scullery maid.
I soon discovered serving in Bilskirnir was not unlike the workings of a great house like Lady Hampton's; such familiarity was only part of the reason I slipped into my role with relative ease. There was another, more powerful master at work here: my obsession with learning the truth. As I watched the kitchen staff heap great helpings of food onto platters, and roll barrels of mead for the great hall, I ardently wished to be in possession of some truth-telling concoction to slip into Loki's cup. Honesty was not a virtue he practiced.
Dusk was fast approaching. The cook, a man so short and stocky I could easily believe he to be of Svartalfheim, swiftly dispatched the servants to their posts. As they filed out he turned to me, grimaced (he, too, shared Alda's distrust of indentured souls) and growled, “You there, hurry and fetch more logs for the pit in the hall. Lord Thor fancies a pig roast on top of the meal we've planned. Bring all the wood you can carry and be off as quickly as one of our lord's lightning bolts. Understand?”
Harsh condescension edged his tone. Biting back my irritation, I acknowledged his order with a curtsy and went off. As I ascended the stone steps, the heavy, smoke-filled air gave way for the sweet scents of treated wood, food and fresh air lightly perfumed with flowers. The kitchen stairs were set by a series of long windows, allowing me a breathtaking view of Asgard. I found my steps slowing, then ceasing altogether when I spied the Plains of Ida. Though no more than a flower-strewn meadow cutting between Gladsheim and Vingolf from this distance, there was an aura of light surrounding it so it glowed as white as moonlight. I could only just identify figures moving about the fields, astride two legs and four, shadowed by the small bodies of birds flitting about.
My hands tightened into fists. The full force of Loki's betrayal descended upon me, and I thought, I should be there. I belonged with Mother, and Father, Hilda...even my own unborn child. I soon lost myself in a pleasant vision of my parents rushing to welcome me, Hilda's face alight with love, my child- a son, for I had so longed for one- stumbling forward, crying out , Mama, Mama!
I saw my hand lift of its own accord, fingers outstretched, inches from lacing with those of my son's...
“Well, well, well,” remarked a voice that stiffened my spine. “I believed my senses had deceived me while on my sojourn to Elysium. It is a realm often given to hallucination, but no. I saw true that day, and you were truly standing there. At least until you collapsed.”
The casual reference to that terrible day, and its revelations, sparked my anger and I whirled around. Loki lay on a bench, an expression of amused delight on his sallow face. Time seemed to cease in that instant as we took measure of one another. I could not think past this, our first meeting since parting that morn as man and wife.
Loki smiled, very slightly. “What welcome is this?” he questioned, mockery in his tone. “Hardly the warm reception a husband can expect of his loving wife, do you not agree, Mrs. Caine?”
His words broke through the trance that held me in thrall. “I'll not hear that name addressed to me,” I snapped. “You've no right to it.”
“By my right, it is,” he said, smiling broader still. “For was it not I who gave this name to you? It would be unseemly to call you otherwise.”
I was so incensed by this time I likened myself to the string of a bow drawn too tight. “I would be much obliged if you called me nothing at all.”
“Oh, but where is the fun in that?” Loki asked, insolent as the most wretched of things. And he laughed.
I quivered head to foot. Anger clawed at my insides, threatening to rip me to pieces upon release. “Fun?” I echoed in a ragged gasp. I thrust my hands forward, showed him the shackles shimmering in the waning sunlight. I saw his swift, disinterested glance and grew angrier still. “This is as far from fun as you are from compassion. Look at them!” I cried. “I am cursed to wear these because of you. How dare you make a mockery of what I must endure!”
At this Loki lifted a cautioning finger. “Careful, Mrs. Caine,” he advised in mild tones. “You forget to whom you speak. I will allow it, however,” he added with another wretched smile. “I must say, I admire your tenacity. I had thought myself firmly rid of you, and here you are, by deceit no less! Well done, Mrs. Caine, well done!”
To hear my shame celebrated so stung me to the core. Somehow, I was able to speak over the tightness in my throat. “How did you know?”
Loki smiled again, and gestured. Instantly his shape changed to that that of the wood nymph's. “Was she, was she!” he crowed, and laughed.
The rage regained its hold on me. “So,” I murmured, “it was you. Why did you not prevent Thor from agreeing to the trade?” I demanded.
Another gesture, and Loki resumed his true shape. “I already answered that question, Mrs. Caine: I admired how far you were willing to go to achieve your ends. Now I wish to see where this jaunt of yours will take you next.” He stood then, made a sweeping, overly done bow. “I have a feeling this will prove a most pleasant diversion,” he pronounced before stepping into the shadows. He was gone in an instant.
I spent several moments staring at the space he once occupied, agonizing over the lost opportunity to further berate him for his callous behavior even as I reflected on his willingness to partake in my deception. Such thoughts were soon cast aside: Loki's motives for helping me were not a concern. I knew even if they were, he would be the last to give me a proper reason. Instead I focused on what he termed a pleasant diversion and resolved to wring the truth from him, one way or another. I had not come all this way to leave be.
***
My encounter with Loki had delayed my return, earning me a swift rebuke from the cook and a hasty order for one of the other servants to bring the firewood to the great hall. I was relegated to scrubbing pots and pans for my tardiness. I did not mind. It meant I would remain in the kitchens indefinitely. I was not ready to see Loki welcomed with open arms.
Soon enough I was alone. The pots and pans seemingly multiplied no matter how swiftly I worked. It was not until I became increasingly aware of the growing pile behind me that I determined it would be wise to put them away before they tumbled upon me- which is precisely what they did the instant I removed a pan nearer the top. My yelp was lost in the ringing cacophony of sound so harsh I clamped my hands over my ears.
When at last the ringing died down I heard a concerned voice call out, “Are you unhurt?”
Turning, I beheld a young, blonde girl in maid livery peering round the collection of cookware tumbled about. She had large blue eyes set in a round, child-like face; she could not have been any older than Vinnie. Quickly, she waded her way for me, a kind smile upon her lips. “You took a fright, is all,” she observed. “Come, let me help you put them away.” With that, she scooped some pots up and went unerringly to the proper cabinet, rack or hook.
“Lord Thor's celebrations always produce a lot of dirty pots. You will need the room,” she continued amiably. At seeing I had not moved she sent me a curious glance. “What is it?”
My body had tensed as if I were facing Loki again. “Why are you helping me?” I asked.
She furrowed her brow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Because I'm a-” I bit my lip, reluctant to say the words.
Understanding shone in her eyes. “It's all right,” she assured me softly. “I know what you are, and it is not my task nor right to judge you because of it. It's just that I know how difficult it can be when you're a new maid, and Alda can be quite the terrible mistress if you let her- oh!” she gasped suddenly. “You've gone white as a sheet! And you're shaking!”
The truth of it, I was shaking. Her words had struck such a deep, resonating chord within me I was astonished at how well I had conditioned myself to expect nothing but hostility from my masters and those around me. I could feel my chest tighten, my throat tense, face and eyes burn- all symptoms preceding the release of tears. But, as before, I remained at the cusp of weeping.
The maid's expression softened. “There, there,” she consoled, threading her way to my side and taking my hand. “My name is Ola. You are Catherine, correct? Come, sit down for a moment, gather your bearings. I will put these dishes away.”
As she spoke, I became acutely aware of the near-crippling weakness of my body- a sensation that harkened to the time I first learned of my death. And, as it had been then, I came very close to collapsing. Ola tightened her grip on my hand, I managed a wan smile, and she drew me to a nearby chair.
I sat in silence for a time, watching Ola's efficient skill at properly storing the cookware while I waited for the weakness to pass. She kept up a steady stream of conversation, even drew some laughter from me as she regaled me with tales of life at Bilskirnir. But the weakness persisted, and I said as much when she asked. Her gaze locked with mine, sympathy entering her eyes as I added, very quietly, “It's because I cannot cry, is it not?”
“That's part of it,” she replied. “I've also heard it said that indentured souls feel things differently than the rest of us. The shackles, you see,” she added, almost apologetically.
I nodded slowly. “Yes. They are the burdens we bear.”
“I suppose they are,” Ola answered hesitantly.
Weary of the topic, for dwelling on my shackles and why I wore them would only drain me again, I pushed myself to my feet. “I'll be all right,” I assured her with a small smile. I joined her by the sink. Dirty pots and pans had somehow manifested within during my rest. “How was it you came to Bilskirnir?”
Ola took up a pan and started washing it. She kept her eyes averted. “I was a sickly child,” she began. “I don't have many memories other than being in bed. I couldn't tell you where I was from, or how old I was when I died. It was so long ago.” Her face brightened, and she smiled faintly. “I do recall the way the curtains would flutter in the breeze, and the way my mother smelled. Lilac,” she reminisced. “That's what I remember at the last.”
A haunting memory of Mother's final hours briefly flashed in my mind. “Is that when you...?”
“Yes. At least, that is what my envoy told me.”
“Envoy?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, the wistfulness of her tale replaced with joy. “We all are escorted to paradise by an envoy of our chosen gods. My parents still worshiped the Norse gods, so mine was a beautiful woman of Asgard astride a white horse. It was she who brought me to Bilskirnir, and I have been serving here ever since. My lord Thor is a good man, and Lady Sif a generous woman. I hope one day to attend her, perhaps even see Lady Frigg's beautiful hall. I hear it has the best gardens in all Asgard.”
I could hear my own youthful idealism in Ola's tone, and bitterly cursed Loki for stealing that from me. “Can you eventually serve in another god's home?” I asked, taking a pan and setting it to dry on the counter before reaching for a second.
“Oh yes. If you are a good worker, and you maintain respect for your fellows and gods, it is possible to request a new assignment. I've seen Lady Sif grant such requests before. But I could never leave here. I am quite happy.” Ola peered at me for a moment; I could see curiosity warring with a desire not to offend in her eyes, and knew what she wanted to ask.
The sudden echo of a horn saved me from having to explain. Ola jumped like a startled deer at the sound and dropped her wash cloth. “Oh!” she gasped. “The banquet has begun! I must hurry back. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Catherine. I will see you later tonight,” she said, smiled and hurried from the room just as another blast from the horn sounded.
I waited until I heard the echo of her footsteps receded before I sighed and resumed my task.
The night wore on. Overhead, I could hear the muted sound of music, conversation and, at one instant, rapid footsteps that could only be a dance. The delightful images I conjured of merry making was soon darkened at envisioning Loki, smug and supreme as any monarch, smiling down at the revelry gathered to honor him while I toiled down here. Anger, swift as the rushing tide of a storm-tossed ocean, swept over me; in a rage I snatched up a pot and lifted it overhead with the want to throw it. I so longed to hear the rattling crash. But when I glimpsed my reflection, and beheld the flashing eyes and taut features, I sobered at once.
Is this what I was becoming? Had become? The thought chilled me.
The simple, mindless monotony of washing dishes provided a much-needed respite from my musings. Absently, I listened to the continued sounds of revelry above. I did not expect the celebration to let up until well after dawn. The steady stream of dishes had, thankfully, stopped, allowing me the opportunity to make my way to my assigned room and lay down for a bit.
It seemed only moments had passed before I felt someone gently shake my shoulder. Bleary eyed and slightly confused, I stared up into Ola's face. “What is it?” I asked groggily.
“Hurry, Catherine,” she said, traces of excitement in her voice. “Lord Thor wishes for everyone to be on hand to welcome Loki.”
I eased upright, all fatigue abandoning me as a jolt of energy coursed through me. “Is he not here?”
“Not yet. It's his way,” she explained at my frown. “He enjoys knowing we are all waiting on him. Lord Thor does not usually humor such things but tonight is different.”
Indeed, for Loki was the very reason for the night's entertainment. Able to keep the bitterness shielded from Ola's earnest face, I nodded, rose to my feet and followed her out.
Along the way upstairs we merged with the crowd of servants gathering in the hall. I heard Alda calling orders for everyone to line up accordingly. Ola and I were separated in the crush; as I hastily made my way to the back of the crowd where the lower servants stood, I glimpsed the long trestle tables laden with food and drink, and the ample crowd within the hall. Thor and Sif sat among their fellows, Thor red-faced and laughing with some guests, Sif smiling with the fond indulgence of a wife who knows she will be helping her husband to bed at night's end.
“Inside, everyone, quickly now!” Alda ordered, and we surged forth. My steps were not as swift as the rest, for the array of faces at table drew me to a near standstill: Tyr, Freyr, Idun, all drinking and making merry. Carefree. It was incredible to behold.
Alda's sharp command checked me. The instant I reached my assigned spot at the very end of the line, almost out of sight of the gods assembled within, Thor rose to his feet and signaled for silence. “Friends,” he began, hoisting his cup into the air and causing some of the contents to spill over the rim. “Thank you all for coming to sample my winnings-”
“And finer winnings, there has never been!” Tyr interrupted to a chorus of raucous laughter and shouts of hurrah. Thor acknowledged the remark with a great bellowing laugh of his own. The line of servants also chuckled. I kept my gaze fixed on the doorway that was now being drawn open by a pair of guards. Roskva and Pjalfi hurriedly rolled out a slender carpet leading from the door to where Thor now stood, then dropped out of sight. Another servant made his way down the line, presenting each with a glass and splashing some mead into it. I had just received mine when Thor resumed his speech.
“Tonight's celebration is not just to partake in my generosity. It is to welcome back one of our own. For too long he has been denied our halls, our hospitality. Friends, I ask that you now stand and lift your glasses as we open our arms and our hearts to the All-father's blood brother, Loki!”
Cups were lifted as one, from the guards standing at the entrance all along the line of servants. I held mine at chin level; I had no stomach to toast the Sly One. The entire room now watched the doors in great anticipation.
Moments passed. Someone coughed. Thor's hounds chewed noisily on their bones.
I saw Sif lean in close to Thor. “He makes mockery of a welcome designed for his benefit?” she hissed in a low voice, the cup she held aloft trembling just so.
Before Thor could answer a voice called out, “Not so,” and all present looked toward the back of the room. A pair of elegantly crafted chairs were set upon a small set of stairs, chairs I assumed Thor and Sif used when granting an audience. Loki reclined sideways in one of these chairs, hand at his chin and pleased smile on his face. I gripped the stem of my cup, very tightly.
A flicker of annoyance, quickly suppressed, crossed Sif's face. “Perhaps you would care to join us here, rather than observe the gathering from my chair.”
“Ah, would that I could, lady, for you see, the view is quite pleasant from here,” he riposted.
Ugly as he was, still his voice, his mannerisms, seemed to hold the entire room in thrall. Though reluctant to admit it, I found myself unable to look away from him. Those qualities he displayed now had been the very same that enchanted me when I only knew him as Thomas. I resented him all the more for it.
The gathering chuckled at the jest. Even Thor grinned.
Sif's smile was strained. “Loki-”
“Alas, as pleasant as it is,” he interrupted smoothly, “I much prefer the view from there.” He gestured for the tables. At that instant one of the guests turned round on the bench; as he did he changed into Loki, and the one seated on Sif's chair dissipated like fog. He lifted his glass, smiled at Thor and had the bad manners to drink to himself. No one else present considered it rude. The entire room erupted into thunderous applause, Thor's among the loudest. Even the servants cheered. I neither drank nor cheered. Sif, I saw, shared my sentiments.
“Well done, Loki,” Thor complimented when the applause ceased, and everyone resumed their seats to eat or drink. The same servant that had given us glasses appropriated them. “I see you have not lost your affinity for games during your time away.”
Loki finished off his drink and set the cup down. “And none of you have lost your affinity for participating during my time away,” he countered.
Thor laughed again, clapped him on the shoulder. “'Tis good to see you in such fine spirits. The celebration seems to have improved upon your mood.”
“This celebration, grand and as well deserved as it is, is only part of why I am so merry this night,” Loki replied grandly.
“Oh?” This from Sif, whose querying voice carried a hint of doubt. “And what is the other part?”
Loki's smile was small, secretive. “I shall say only this: something has quite recently come to my attention. It brightens my mood every moment I devote to the thought,” he replied, his gaze drifting to where I stood. I tensed.
“It must be a pleasant collection of thoughts if to make you smile like that,” Tyr observed, grinning. “Come, though- keep not secrets from us! Tell us of your trials in Midgard.”
Loki leaned against the table, hands idly dangling. “I am not so sure you would want to hear of them...”
Freyr, seated further down the table, called out, “Behaving as a coy woman does not suit you, Loki. I take oath you are burning to tell your tale. And we are a most eager audience,” he added with a sweeping gesture at the crowd.
A few others seconded Freyr's remark. I watched Loki draw out his mental debate as long as he could before he smiled and capitulated. The room cheered as he strode for the center of the floor. Behind him, a large pig was impaled on spits; when he passed by the flames rose as he took his place in front of the pit, sending the attendants backward with angry mutterings and abruptly reminding me of the other element Loki was often associated with.
Once he was certain the room watched him, Loki threw out his hands. As he did so, white and blue smoke manifested in the air, coiling around his body like wispy snakes. From these bands burst forth shadowy figures, vistas, towns, cities, roads. He launched into an engaging narrative that held all spellbound, including me. But as his story continued, the spell gradually loosened its hold on me.
The story he told, that of an embittered god finding redemption by performing good deeds for the people of Midgard, was nothing but a vile lie.
Astounded, I sought the faces of those around me, desperate to see if they, too, saw this tale for the farce it was. But I saw no such disbelief or doubt in anyone's eyes. If any had been there before, it was long gone now. Even Sif seemed to have let go of her suspicions.
When Loki finished his tale, and the last of his conjuring faded, Freyr clamored onto the bench and thrust his glass forward. His eyes were bright with emotion. “As I live and breath! Loki the Deceiver has truly changed! Let all Asgard know he is now Loki the Redeemed!”
Joyous cries of 'Loki the Redeemed!' rang through the hall. Thor hefted Mjolnir overhead. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed beyond the windows, as if summoned to carry the news. Among all this revelry, undeserved and unearned, stood the Sly One, the humble expression he favored unable to conceal the secret joy at hearing his name cried out so. Our eyes met and held; when he smiled I fled the room, no longer able to stomach such a dreadful scene. The memory of that leering smile chased me as close as my own shadow.
My staggering, unguided flight soon brought me to an empty chamber. I halted before the large window, turned my gaze to the star-streaked night sky. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, beating faster than it ever had in life. The echo reverberated through me like a clap of thunder. I felt nauseated. Dizzy. I gripped the back of a nearby chair for support. Heaviness settled upon me. Try as I might, I could not keep my balance. I dropped to the floor, head bowed, chest heaving. Darkness flitted at the edge of my perception.
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Caine. My tale was not so awful as that.”
That voice, hovering very close to my shoulder, drew me upright in an instant. Loki gazed over at me, hands folded on his lap, legs flung out before him. I scrambled away as quickly as my current state would allow. Gasping, overcome with emotion, I grabbed at the furniture for support. “Leave me be,” I hissed. “You have all Asgard at your feet. You need not find admiration where it is not welcomed.”
“I come not seeking admiration, only to remind you of where you are.”
“Leave me,” I repeated, hating how my weakened state had reduced me to begging.
He tutted. “A fine regard this is. Why, you are in Asgard, dear wife! A dream come to life if I may say. Once you accept it and be happy all will be well.”
I now sat across from him, my hands curled into fists on the floor. My arms trembled from the strain of sitting upright. “This is no dream, Loki. It is the cruelest nightmare!”
Loki sighed as if exasperated, or bored, or both. “Perhaps,” he conceded with no true sincerity. “However, I invite you to consider the benefits to be had of your situation: no longer are you to pay homage to some petty Greek god, but here, where you have always yearned to be. Little Kitty Chandler,” he said with a conspirator's smile, and I felt a chill course through my being. “All those nights imagining visiting the gods and the realms, of feasting in the great halls. The All-father welcoming you as a Valkyrie. That was always my favorite fantasy, if you must know. You, a chooser of the slain.”
Hearing him dash my most cherished memories to the ground, and with such derision, left me sickened, exposed.
“Stop,” I whispered. I trembled as if I were suddenly thrust into the heart of a snowstorm, cold winds and icy rain whipping about me. “Burden me with your wretchedness if you must, but do not sully my memories.”
“Ah,” he said, lifting a finger. “You have it, Mrs. Caine. Memories are what shapes a person, and you are in dire need of shaping.”
I turned away, weary of our exchange. “Just leave me be.”
“Hear me,” Loki said, rising to his feet and approaching me in a few short strides. His smile was much too smug for my liking. “In life, you were sweet, docile, even tempered, obedient. In short, Kitty Chandler was a dreadful bore. Oh, Catherine Caine was no better,” he added, ignoring my heated glare, and my attempts to fend him off when he quite suddenly seized my hands. “Turn your thoughts to that day we met. Your very soul cried out for change, and I gave it to you.”
At last I jerked free from his grasp. “How dare you!” I spat, my voice husky with rage. “I've no reason to thank you for this. You ruined my life!”
Loki smiled, very slightly. His eyes gleamed. “So passionate. So angry. Such a pleasant change from that pathetic, sniveling woman hiding in her past.”
At last, at long last, anger exploded from me, violent as a storm. “You bastard!” I cried, lunging for him. Loki caught my fist, forced it behind my back as he drew me against him. His other hand stroked my hair, mocking in its tenderness. I tried to twist free, breath coming fast. “Release me at once.”
“Release you?” he repeated, as if amused. “No, Mrs. Caine.” Leaning so his mouth pressed close to my ear, he whispered, “You are marked by Loki. You shall never be free of it,” he promised, squeezing my wrist for emphasis.
Somehow, I managed to drive my other hand between us and forced us apart. I raked my hair away from my face, my teeth clenching as I rasped, “I hate you for what you've done to me. I will always hate you!”
Loki smiled, and performed a mocking bow. “Then hate me as you will, Mrs. Caine. You shall have an eternity to do so,” he stated, and vanished into the shadows.
The instant he was gone I collapsed. Once more I was at the mercy of my volatile emotions and the violent wracking that now threatened to rattle my very bones loose. The ragged, gasping sounds I made seemed not to come from me, but something else altogether. At hearing traces of distant laughter echoing in the darkness I pressed my hands to my ears. This was not the Asgard I envisioned. This gilded hall where a creature such as Loki walked could only be Hel, and I was deeply entrenched within it.
No way out. No way home. No way back.