The Gospel of Loki

by Joanne M Harris

  Freyja’s smile grew broader. She reached out to touch the necklace; studded with gemstones; gleaming with runes; lithe and light as a golden snakeskin.

  ‘I’ll give you the necklace,’ Dvalin said. ‘In payment for four nights of pleasure.’

  ‘What?’ said Freyja, the smile fading.

  ‘One night for each of us,’ Dvalin said. ‘We made the necklace together. It’s unique. It’s stitched through with glam. The wearer’s beauty will never fade. Nothing will ever spoil it – or you. That’s my price. Now what do you say?’

  Freyja bit her lip. A tear, burning gold in the light of the forge, ran slowly down her cheek.

  ‘Four nights,’ said Dvalin. ‘After that, the necklace is yours for ever.’

  OK, so I watched. Is that so bad? Besides, it was a Hel of a show. I knew that Freyja was shallow, but until that moment I hadn’t been sure how far she would go for the sake of personal adornment. Well, folks, she went all the way, every way – and not just once, but four times, with four uncouth and demanding men who hadn’t had a woman in years. Still, she got what she wanted, and I watched as the Sons of Ivaldi fastened the necklace around her neck, leering and smirking and touching her all over with their horny hands. I followed her as she fled back home to Asgard and a long bath – and then I made for Odin’s hall and told him everything I’d seen.

  They say ‘never trust a one-eyed man’. But some might say that where women are concerned, all men are one-eyed, and even that eye doesn’t see much. Odin’s one eye narrowed in rage when I told him the sordid details, but he couldn’t seem to stop listening. I know. I’m a good narrator. And the story I was telling him was almost irresistible.

  When I had finished, he vented his rage, flinging his goblet of wine to the floor. ‘Why did you tell me all this?’ he said.

  ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I thought you might want to know, that’s all. That Freyja, our beautiful Freyja, sold herself to the Maggots. I didn’t sanction it. I didn’t encourage her. She’s a responsible adult, and I guess she knew what she was doing. Still, some people might say that her actions could have endangered all of us. Or that she had a duty to inform you if she was leaving Asgard. I said some people. I don’t judge. Still, I thought you ought to know.’

  Odin gave a low growl. ‘Get me the necklace,’ he told me.

  ‘What, me?’

  ‘You know how to do it,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what this is. This is payback for Brokk, and that awl.’

  I feigned innocence. ‘Payback?’ I said. ‘Why would I need payback? You’re my brother. We swore a pact. And as for that silly business with Brokk . . .’ I smiled. My mouth was almost healed by then. ‘You know, I’d almost forgotten that. You really don’t need to feel guilty. Although, some might say that the things we do sometimes come back to haunt us. There should be a word for that, don’t you think? Something poetic. I’ll think of one.’

  Odin’s growl grew more menacing. ‘Get me the necklace, Loki,’ he said.

  I put up my hands. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  I waited till Freyja was asleep. Then I entered her chamber, once again disguised as a flea. Freyja was wearing the necklace in bed – and nothing else, I noticed – but, regaining my Aspect, I found that she was lying on the clasp. I couldn’t reach to unfasten it. And I couldn’t afford to wait until the goddess turned over in her sleep. My mission might have Odin’s blessing, but if I were caught next to Freyja’s bed, naked, in the middle of the night, the Vanir wouldn’t hesitate to gut me like a mackerel.

  And so I returned into my flea Aspect and bit her on the eyelid. She gave a sigh and turned over, exposing the clasp of the necklace. Assuming my Aspect once again, I reached for the necklace and, very gently, unfastened it and slid it off. Then I crept to the chamber door and unlocked it from the inside, blew the sleeping Freyja a kiss, and prepared to head back to Odin’s hall, where the Old Man was waiting grimly for proof of her betrayal.

  But as I was reaching for my clothes (which I’d left at the door as I shifted, of course), I became aware of a figure standing in the passageway. It was Heimdall, snooping around as usual, who must have spotted my signature from his vantage point on Bif-rost.

  He drew his mindsword, a cantrip of Týr – a flickering blade as deceptively fast as a moth’s wing, and as sharp as my tongue.

  ‘This is not what it looks like,’ I said.

  He smiled, exposing his golden teeth. ‘Let’s see what your insides look like.’

  I shifted to my Wildfire Aspect and started to race down the passageway, dropping the necklace onto the flags. But Heimdall cast the rune Logr – water – and I found myself suddenly, painfully quenched.

  I returned to my habitual Aspect, shivering, drenched and au naturel.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ I gasped. ‘The Old Man sanctioned this himself.’

  He laughed. ‘I knew you were a liar,’ he said, ‘but this tops it all. The General asked you to break into Freyja’s rooms? Why would he do that?’

  I shrugged and picked up the necklace again. ‘Let’s go. You can ask him yourself.’

  They tell you revenge isn’t worth it. I say there’s nothing finer. I reached Odin’s hall in a headlock, naked, wet and covered in soot. Heimdall, looking like a golden retriever triumphantly bringing one of his master’s slippers, flung me at the General’s feet.

  ‘I found this little weasel sniffing around Freyja’s bedroom,’ he said. ‘I know that for some reason he entertains you, but—’

  ‘Get out,’ Odin said.

  ‘But, Allfather—’ began Heimdall, confused.

  ‘I said, get out,’ snarled Odin. ‘You’ve done quite enough for one night. And unless you want to bring even more shame onto Freyja and the Vanir, keep your mouth shut about what you saw. Loki has shown more loyalty than any of your people. Lay a hand on him again, you overgrown canary, and I’ll knock you off your perch for good. All right?’

  Heimdall’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t underst—’

  ‘Bye-bye, Goldie,’ I said, and grinned. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  He left, grinding his golden teeth so violently that sparks flew.

  ‘You got the necklace,’ Odin said, turning back to me.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let me see it.’

  I kept a straight face but inside I was grinning.

  Oh, the Old Man was sweet on Freyja, all right, in spite of his comfy marriage to Frigg. Freyja liked to encourage it, as she encouraged everyone – but saving a special smile for him, and cultivating a girlish flutter whenever Odin was around. His admiration gave her status, of course. And even Allfather wasn’t immune to a little flattery.

  I affected an air of sorrow as I handed over the necklace. There was no denying either its beauty or its value. The runes that held it together shone like captive shards of starlight, and the many gemstones spun into the work gleamed like the tears in a woman’s eyes.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked. ‘Keep it? Wear it? Give it back?’

  Slowly, Odin shook his head. Behind him, on the back of his throne, his ravens – Hugin and Munin, the physical manifestations of Allfather’s thoughts in bird form – clicked their beaks and glared at me.

  ‘Leave me alone. I need to think.’

  I grinned and sauntered back to my rooms, where I slept like a babe for the rest of the night. I doubt whether Odin did, but then, that was kind of what I was going for.

  I woke with the sun, showered and shaved, and was just contemplating a spot of breakfast when I heard a terrific commotion coming from Allfather’s hall. Freyja had discovered the loss of her necklace and, finding the doors to her chamber unlocked, had rightly suspected Yours Truly.

  ‘Where is my necklace?’ she was screaming as I wandered into the hall.

  Odin was sitting on his throne, a bird on either shoulder. His face was stony. Only the birds moved.

  Freyja saw me come in. ‘You! Y
ou broke into my chamber!’

  ‘Who, me?’

  Freyja turned to Odin. ‘Yes! Loki stole my necklace. He crept into my room, like a thief, and stole it from me as I slept. I want him punished. I want him dead. And I want my necklace!’

  ‘What, this?’ Odin said, pulling it out of his pocket.

  Freyja coloured. ‘Give it to me.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty bauble,’ he said. ‘Was it very expensive?’

  Now she grew pale. ‘Hand it over,’ she said.

  ‘Four nights. That sounds like a bargain,’ said Odin in his cold, silky voice. ‘Ivaldi’s sons got a good deal.’

  Freyja’s expression hardened. ‘You don’t own me, Odin,’ she said. ‘You can’t tell me what to do. The necklace is mine. I paid for it. Now give it back.’

  He did not reply. On his shoulder, one of the birds scratched its dark head with a claw. Nothing else moved. The Old Man might have been carved from granite.

  Freyja started to cry then. She could do that at will, golden tears to melt the heart of the sternest of men. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’ll do anything . . .’

  ‘I think we’ve established that,’ I said.

  Odin gave a little smile. It wasn’t a good smile, but Freyja must have taken it as a sign of capitulation. She draped herself on Odin’s arm and peered at him through her lashes.

  ‘I’m yours,’ she said. ‘If you want me . . .’

  The smile became a skull’s grin.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Odin. ‘I want you. But that rune you bear – the rune Fé – is more than just the desire for gold. I’m giving you a new Aspect, Freyja. Desire cuts both ways, like a double blade. It can mean love. But it’s also the lust that drives a man to his own death, the lust for blood and violence. Henceforth, you will spread that desire everywhere in the Middle Worlds; you’ll set men against each other, you’ll lie, you’ll use your charms to deceive, to betray, and even then they’ll worship you. Even as they bleed and die, they’ll only want you even more, with a desire that only Death can satisfy for ever.’

  ‘What about my necklace?’ Freyja said.

  ‘Yes, I’ll give it back,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’ll never take it off. I want you to wear it so neither of us will ever forget what happened here.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Freyja. ‘The necklace, please.’

  Odin handed it over.

  And that’s why the Goddess of Desire has two Aspects: the Maiden, ripe and beautiful as a golden peach in summertime; and the Crone, the carrion demon of battle, hideously beautiful, gloved in blood to her armpits and screaming with unsatisfied lust.

  LESSON 2

  Apples

  An apple a day keeps the doctor away. No one’s immune to bribery.

  Lokabrenna

  IT WAS A VERY SMALL REVENGE, but it pleased me, nevertheless. I hadn’t been planning to challenge the gods, just cause as much distress as I could without arousing suspicion. And the business of Freyja’s necklace had already caused its share of distress – to Freyja and the Vanir, of course, but also to Heimdall, whose position of trust I’d undermined; to Frigg, Odin’s wife, whose loyalty had taken a hit; and, of course, to Odin himself, who had revealed himself to be an old fool of the most classic kind, losing his head over a girl.

  And the greatest thing about it? They’d brought their sorrow on themselves. All I did was tell the truth and let their nature do the rest. Greed, hatred, jealousy – all the corrupting emotions with which Odin had infected me – coming home like pigeons to roost. I tell you, it was beautiful.

  But that was only the start of it. An appetizer, if you like. One day I meant to have them all at my feet, begging for help, just so I could kick them aside and laugh as they went tumbling . . .

  Still, all in good time, I told myself. It takes more than a couple of stones to bring down an enemy fortress. And I had all the time in the Worlds to bring the Old Man to his knees. I decided to play it safe for a while, to try and play at being one of the guys until a new opportunity arose. As for Odin, as far as he was concerned, I’d paid him back for Brokk and the awl, and now he figured we were square.

  But as time passed, I realized that the business with Freyja had changed him. He became increasingly moody and withdrawn. He’d always been fond of travelling but now he left Asgard more often than ever – alone, except for Sleipnir, his horse – and often for weeks and months on end. No one knew where he went during those long absences, but I knew he favoured the Middle Worlds, and most especially Inland, where he walked unseen and in disguise and the Folk told all kinds of tales about him.

  True, he spread most of them himself, posing as a travelling storyteller, but he liked them anyway, and he enjoyed the way in which the Folk expressed their devotion. What he enjoyed less was the fact that Thor was by far the more popular, at least as far as the Folk were concerned. I suspect there may have been a little friction between father and son; Thor’s muscle provided excellent protection for Asgard, but secretly Odin was dismayed that he and his son were so different. As for his youngest son, Balder – well. Frigg adored him, but Odin – well. Suffice it to say that whenever Balder was around, Odin always found an excuse to be somewhere else.

  I could see why. There was darkness in Odin, a darkness that only I understood, and I could see how it preyed on him, eating him from the inside. Still, that’s the price of godhood, folks. Maintaining Order isn’t easy, especially in a world in which Chaos is always struggling to regain the upper hand. The little world of Inland gave the Old Man comfort, somehow; that’s why he went there so often, although he also ventured as far as the realms of the Rock Folk and Ice Folk, always in secret and in disguise, telling no one where he went, not even Frigg – not even me.

  Meanwhile, back in Asgard, things had settled down for a while. Heimdall still hated me from afar, but after his last humiliation he was afraid to say too much. Thor had his hammer to play with, Bragi was learning the bagpipes, Balder was working his pectorals and Frey was engaged on a romantic quest. More of that later. But Yours Truly had time on his hands for exploring the Worlds, and Odin was more than happy for a temporary change of scene.

  You recall he liked to travel alone? This time, he wanted company. I was more than willing; besides, I was getting restless too. There’s only so much a man can achieve within four walls. I needed air. I needed new sensations. I was finally coming to terms with my current Aspect, and with the fact that bad smells, pain, cold and some of the more disgusting requirements of my physical body could be tempered by its insatiable capacity for pleasure.

  Women and food I already knew – I had an appetite for both – but I guessed that the Worlds outside might contain considerably more than that. Besides, if I was to bring down the gods, I wanted to know their enemies. As it turned out, I got to know some of them just a little too well – but I’ll get to that later.

  And so, when Odin suggested a little trip out of Asgard, I was happy to oblige. There were three of us: the General, Honir and Yours Truly. Remember Honir the Silent? The same young man that Odin had sent with Mimir to spy on the Vanir long ago. A vapid, indecisive type, better at sports than at thinking. Basically, an expendable, which was why Odin chose to take him along. As for myself, I like to think that Odin valued my company; or maybe it was just to make sure I didn’t cause trouble while he was away.

  We crossed Bif-rost into Inland, the centre part of the Middle Worlds, and, using the rune Raedo for speed, made our way through the Ridings, keeping to the less-travelled roads, until we reached the Northlands. It was an area Odin liked for some reason; I personally found it too cold, but Wildfire is my nature. In any case, we found ourselves travelling through mountains; huge, looming, dark mountains with slices of narrow valley between and winds that cut like razors. Beyond lay the realm of the Ice People; another area of incomprehensible fascination for the General. Perhaps he had a mistress there – the Old Man had a roving eye – or maybe it was just his way of keeping track of his enemies.
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  We travelled for days; Odin morose; Honir talking constantly – about the scenery, the sheep in the fields, the funny dream he’d had last night, speculating on whether we were there yet, how many leagues we must have travelled, or how long it was to lunchtime . . .

  Odin had his horse with him, but Sleipnir too was in humbler Aspect, and the steed with a foot in eight of Nine Worlds was now just an ordinary roan, vaguely red in colour, with only the standard number of legs. It meant we had to take turns to ride, which I for one thought rather a waste, but Odin would have it no other way, and so I endured the discomfort and hoped he appreciated my sacrifice.

  Our supplies had long since run out, and all of us were hungry. There was clearly to be no nipping back to Asgard for lunch, riding Sleipnir in full Aspect. So, finding a herd of wild oxen grazing in one of those narrow valleys, we killed one, butchered it, lit a fire and started to roast the animal in pieces among the hot coals.

  Odin sat down on his bedroll and lit his pipe (another habit of the Folk he’d picked up on his travels).

  ‘See how simple all this is? Just the three of us and the fire, with the open sky overhead.’

  I looked up. I didn’t see that the sky looked any different from the sky we could see in Asgard, but when Odin was in poetic mood, there was no reasoning with him.

  ‘Is the meat cooked?’ Honir said.

  Odin shook his head. ‘Just wait. Listen to the sound of the wind. Don’t you think it calls to you?’

  I could have told him that the only thing that was calling to me was that haunch of beef over the fire, but then I thought better of it.

  And so we waited. And waited. I was getting very hungry. Of all my new physical sensations, eating was one of the ones I preferred, but actual hunger – I wasn’t a fan. The scent of roasting flesh was so good that my mouth was watering. My stomach was cramped with anticipation. We waited until we were sure it was ready, then raked the meat out of the ashes, only to find it was still cold.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said. ‘That beef should be cooked.’