by B. C. James
In the next moment, the flames intensified. The hell spawn that had previously emerged from them were transfixed by the blazing column of onyx. The fire then collapsed in on itself, twisted, and began to take shape. Tongues of flame quickly began to crisscross and layer over each other, as if building a strata of muscle. Within seconds, the blazing form of a giant had stood before them. His coal black eyes stared out from the fire and in one hand appeared to be a fiery sword. The flames solidified into red skin. Finally, standing over the burnt out remains of the phone was the giant, Surt, ruler of Múspellsheimr.
“Welcome to earth, big guy!” Loki shouted. He enthusiastically made his way to Surt with his hand extended.
Surt just looked down at the hand and scowled at the gesture of friendship. Loki looked up into the eyes of the ten-foot tall god, laughed awkwardly and then took Surt’s finger in his hand and shook it. The giant just rolled his eyes, muttered something to himself, and blew one of his long dark bangs out of his face.
“I’m busy, Loki. Your text said something about sex with Freya, so talk fast and get to the point. I don’t like my time being wasted.” Surt’s voice filled the desert night like it was broadcast in surround sound.
“No problem-o!” Loki responded as he brought the giant up to speed on the events of the last day or so.
Odin strode up to where the two gods were talking. He and Surt exchanged polite nods and Loki explained to the giant what his role in the evening’s festivities was to be.
“You see,” Loki said, “I won’t bore you with the details, but thanks to some recent circumstances…and some deals…and then some…well…weirder deals…we need you to rape Freya.”
Normally Surt’s face looked like a blood red version of Basil Rathbone, but the request came from so deep in left field, that his normally cool debonair countenance took on a Harpo Marx quality.
“Come again?” said the slightly baffled giant.
“That’s what she said!” Loki joked in a whisper to Odin as he lightly jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.
“Shhh, Loki, this is not the time or place,” Odin carped as he tried to get control of the conversation.
“As Loki said, we need you to rape Freya. We have her restrained over there and she’s ready. All we need is your agreement.” Odin pointed to where Freya was watching the proceedings. She didn’t even bother to try to hide the horror she was feeling.
Surt stoked his little black chin beard. “So, what do I get out of this?”
“Are you kidding?” Loki exclaimed. “I arrange to get you laid by the most desired woman in history, and you treat this like I’m trying to sell you a used Fiero!”
“You didn’t answer my question little god, what do I get out of this?”
Loki was not dumb enough to confuse the giant’s calm demeanor with patience.
“According to the deal with Odin,” Loki motioned to the Allfather standing to his right, “I get Freya after the rape. My intention is to sacrifice her to you. So that’s what you get out of this, her soul.”
“Careful, Loki,” Surt said, “You’re dangerously close to giving away the details of the deal we struck long ago.”
A wry smile crept across Odin’s face. “Don’t worry Surt, there is nothing he can tell me that I don’t already know. I am completely aware that Loki has been sacrificing scores of his companies ‘distributors’ to you as a way to secure your rather mercenary services. I also know that the last thing he needs to complete your contract and win the use of you and your army of demons is the sacrifice of a goddess. After which, you will all attack me, and the rest of the Aesir in an attempt to wipe us out. So, I am handing him his final sacrifice. May the best god win.”
“Uh, yeah, good luck with that Odin,” Loki said.
Surt looked down at Odin. “So, we know what Loki gets out of this, what are you getting out of the deal?”
“Besides your ass kicked,” Loki said under his breath.
Odin let the question, as well as Loki’s editorial comment, pass and snapped his fingers. Simmons arrived with a small black box that he promptly handed to his boss. Odin opened the lid, confirmed the contents, and handed it off to Loki who did the same.
“Remember when I said there were some weird deals in the mix?” Loki handed the box to Surt. “Well, this part is just demented.”
Surt opened the box and removed a condom.
“Don’t worry, it’s extra-large, a Trojan,” Odin wasn’t used to cracking jokes and wasn’t sure if he liked how it felt. “By the way, I’m going to need that back when you’re done.”
Loki began to hum a line from the song 2 Become 1.
Surt gave him a look that could curdle milk.
“Sorry about that,” Loki apologized, “Just something I heard in a Spice Girls song.”
“I’m going to have to know why I am doing this.” Surt was not used to people handing him condoms. And only someone with the predilections and personality of Caligula would ask for it back once the demon was finished with it. Surt was no fool and the whole thing smelled like an extremely bizarre trap.
“We all get something out of this,” Odin said flatly, “If you don’t want the deal, then Loki can’t sacrifice Freya to you. He won’t get your services, and you won’t get the soul of the most desired Goddess of the Nine Worlds sitting by your side for all eternity. I’ll admit, you should be wary of the deal. What happens here tonight will eventually hand me a victory over you and Loki. If you don’t do the deal, I’ll win anyway.”
“There is a prophecy that says different, old man. And according to Ragnarok, your slayer is standing right over there.” Loki pointed to Fenris who enthusiastically waved in their direction while licking his lips.
Surt was beginning to get frustrated. “Whatever, let’s just do this. I don’t have time to sit here and argue.”
Four hooded men roughly grabbed Freya and lifted her from the ground. Surt motioned to the flames that were burning in a circle around the sacrificial table. As if obeying his command, a portion of the fire died away and allowed the men to pass to where Freya would be chained.
She was struggling as best she could with her legs and hands tied. Once they removed her bindings in order to manacle her to the table, she would have a split second of freedom. She intended to use that opportunity to turn this little assembly into something that looked like Jonestown after the Kool-Aid had been served. She may not survive, but she intended to show them how a warrior goddess died.
Freya’s plans for a grand death were derailed before the carnage even had an opportunity to start. With her extremities still bound, she felt the sharp pinch of needle as one of the attendants jabbed a syringe into her neck. Almost immediately, she could feel the control to her limbs slipping away. She was completely paralyzed by the time they put her on the table.
Only when she was completely helpless were her limbs unbound and then re-shackled to the table. The hooded attendants, now finished with their task, stripped her naked, and left through the same break in the flames that they entered. As soon as they departed, the portal disappeared, and she was chained to a table completely surrounded by fire.
If this were a movie, Freya thought miserably, it would be at this point in the film that the big chinned hero would swoop down from the sky and save her. Even though she knew that wasn’t going to happen it was still a shred of hope she could cling to.
Her wish was dashed seconds later. The realization that she was truly lost fully sunk in when Surt strode naked through the flames. His smile betrayed the sort of evil lasciviousness that is usually only associated with those who see children as objects of sexual desire.
If he were not evil incarnate, he would be considered beautiful. Under his flawless red skin was the chiseled body of an athlete. For a moment, she imagined that maybe she could take the “just lie there and think of England” approach to this.
As he leaned close and she looked deep into those pupil-less black eyes, Freya knew she was fooli
ng herself. No thoughts of faraway Britain could blunt the soul shattering horror that was coming her way, and nothing could stop this.
She was doomed.
Chapter 35
Baldr could hear the rape through the walls of the windowless trailer. He originally thought that Freya was being subjected to the tender charms of a device like the Rack or the Spanish Boot. He would have gone on thinking this as well if it were not for one of Odin’s hooded flunkies watching the whole thing on a closed video feed to a laptop.
He hooped and hollered and acted like he was watching his favorite sports team playing in the championship. Drool dripped from the side of his mouth as he watched. He wiped it away with the back of his hand but mostly just managed to transfer the dirt from that hand to his face.
The man was scum and Baldr wanted something very bad to happen to him. The tortured screams coming from Freya made it very clear that the experience was beyond the physical pain and the shame of being desecrated. From a carnal standpoint, being raped by Surt wouldn’t be much different than being violated by a backhoe, but there was more to it than that. In her screams, Baldr could hear the splintering of her psyche.
He was immediately mortified with himself for allowing his inner monologue to minimize her rape by comparing it to sex with a construction vehicle. In truth, the shame and spiritual agony of sharing such physical intimacy with a being of pure, undiluted evil would leave a stain on her soul that may never go away. She would be left with the feeling of perpetually rotting from the inside out. It was quite possible that the most merciful thing that could be done to Freya in the wake of this defilement was simply to kill her.
Baldr’s hands and feet were bound while Thor was still completely catatonic. Even though the Thunder God was unresponsive, he was still tied up with the same dwarf-woven, unbreakable silken ropes that held Baldr fast.
There wasn’t much for a guard to really do with the two of them being completely restrained. So, the guy in the trailer, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on them, was instead completely absorbed in what he was watching on his computer screen.
Baldr could see the man’s eyes in deep focus. He couldn’t see his hands as they were blocked by a ratty old tablecloth, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t want to watch what they were doing, either. If idle hands truly were the devil’s playground, then this guy was presumably building a theme park in his pants.
The guard’s attention was so transfixed that he didn’t hear the door to the trailer open behind him. Without warning, a blade cut through the air and struck him hard on the side of the head.
“I’m surprised,” Belle said as she closed the lid of the guard’s laptop. “I just assumed you would have preferred to sever this degenerate’s head from his neck. Simply knocking him unconscious with the flat of your blade seems like more mercy than he deserves.”
Katheryn returned her sword to its sheath. “Yeah, but if I killed him, guess who would get stuck with having to guide his skanky soul to its final afterlife destination? Me, that’s who. So nooo thank you. I don’t see why I should have to suffer.”
Belle just shrugged and moved to where Baldr and Thor were on the floor. She cut their bonds and stifled a little chuckle about dwarven craftsmanship. While the bonds wouldn’t break no matter how hard they were pulled upon, they cut easier than an undercooked salmon patty. This had less to do with poor attention to detail on the part of the dwarves and more about their predisposition toward mischief.
They adored leaving fatal flaws in the things that they made. In fact, it was a few roguish dwarves behind the creation of lawn darts as well as the Slip n’ Slide back in the 70s.
Baldr stood up and tried to rub the circulation back into his wrists. Before he could thank the two ladies for freeing him, the sharp sound of a blade leaving its scabbard could be heard. Katheryn was standing in front of him, her sword drawn and pointed squarely at his chest.
“Not that I’m in the habit of questioning you, Belle, but seeing as we’re supposed to be taking this one back to Hel, cutting him loose somehow seems like a really dumb idea.”
“He’s not going back to Hel. Baldr has more important things to do. Now give him the inhaler you took from Fenris.”
Katheryn gave Belle a confused look and for a moment wondered if she had her sword pointed at the right person. “Look, boss, I know we don’t have the best job in the world. Believe me, if I had my way I’d toss Mr. Laser Floyd here out the window and get some sushi, but we do have a job to do.”
“Katheryn, you have risen more quickly through the ranks than any other Valkyrie. The fact that you stand next to me is based on nothing less than ambition and courage. These are noble traits and ones to be admired. So, take it with the loving spirit in which it is intended when I tell you that you’re stupid. You’re not the Lennie from Of Mice and Men sort of stupid. It’s more a variation of ignorance that keeps you from enjoying the beauty of a pristine forest because of all of those pesky trees getting in the way.”
Katheryn wasn’t quite sure what Belle was talking about, but she was absolutely positive that she didn’t appreciate being called stupid. Most of her life had been spent as a blonde. Before a series of unlikely events resulted in a girl from Utah becoming an immortal reaper of souls, she was a stage performer.
The soft tyranny of a hair color stereotype, combined with working in a profession, and genre, that most of the intellectual elite considered vapid, meant that she was used to having people underestimate her cerebral firepower. That didn’t mean she had to like it. If she didn’t take that kind of treatment from any of the record executives and flunkies that the Disney Empire threw at her, she certainly wasn’t going to take it from Belle.
“I hope you’re going somewhere with this, Belle,” she said nonchalantly. Katheryn casually ran her thumb across the blade of her sword. “I would hate for someone to say something regrettable and lose their head over a word as silly and trivial as ‘stupid.’”
“It’s very simple really,” Belle elaborated in a more moderate tone. “For as long as anyone can remember, the Valkyrie have existed to serve. We have been at the beck and call of Odin and have spent more than our share of time doing his dirty work. He has subcontracted us out to Loki’s daughter, Hela, so that he wouldn’t have to be bothered with escorting souls to her realm…or to Surt’s. And most of the male gods have treated us like recreational equipment. Well, tonight that all changes. I struck a bargain with Baldr a little while ago, and it is time for him to deliver on his end of things. For the record, I spoke hastily, and you’re not stupid. I just keep forgetting you don’t carry the baggage of our history that most of the rest of us do.”
Katheryn returned her sword to its sheath. “You could have just said we were involved in a coup and skipped all the melodramatic crap. That would have been enough to get me on board. I kinda like coups.”
She dropped the inhaler at Baldr’s feet. “Okay, what now?”
Baldr picked up the inhaler. “What now? Now we give Thor a few squirts from this inhaler…and then get the hell out of the way.”
Nobody outside that trailer was aware of what events were transpiring within its walls. Most were nearly hypnotized by what was happening on the stone table. While it was nearly impossible to see clearly through the circular wall of flame that surrounded Surt and Freya, nearly everyone was hunched around a laptop or tablet to see what was going on. This resulted in a sort of widespread stupor. The majority of the assembly suffered from what could only be described as the voyeuristic version of a sugar coma. Odin tried to look away, but even he eventually succumbed to the freak show and watched with restrained enthusiasm.
Only Loki and Odin’s assistant Simmons seemed to have almost no interest in watching Surt ravage Freya’s body and befoul her soul. In fact, Loki took advantage of the distraction brought about by the images and ceaseless screaming. He could hear that her throat had gotten hoarse, yet she still shrieked. Perhaps she hoped someone who cared would h
ear the anguish in her voice and save her. For the moment, she enough of a distraction to allow Loki to move around the flames to the side opposite Odin without attracting much attention.
Simmons watched Loki with some interest from his post next to the Allfather. The God of Lies was over by the trailers where a small figure slipped out of the darkness to meet him.
He couldn’t see the face of the person that Loki encountered. They were wearing the same, black ceremonial hood and druid style robe that Odin had issued to everyone who was assisting in the night’s festivities. He could see that words were passing between them. Loki stroked the person’s arm and they disappeared back into the night’s shadows. The familiar gesture of touching the arm was unusual. This was obviously someone that Loki knew very well and was comfortable around.
The last of Freya’s hoarse screams resonated into the night air. Through the flames Surt could be seen standing up. He made a slashing motion across his throat and the curtain of fire around the sacrificial table immediately died.
Odin handed Simmons the box and nodded to him. Carl Simmons was absolutely disgusted with what he had to do next, but he would carry out his duty.
He picked up his briefcase, and along with the box in his hands, he walked towards the table where Surt was standing. Simmons passed through the thin veil of smoke that had replaced the roaring flames that had existed just moments ago and stood face to face with a true demon. Well, he was face-to-face with him in a metaphorical sense only. In reality it was more like face-to-belly button.
Simmons tried to look at Freya’s face but didn’t have the nerve to gaze for very long. Her beautiful and perfect features were now twisted and warped by pain. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and unresponsive. A whistle from her nose showed that she was breathing, but nothing about her indicated that any part of her brain was at work besides the stem.
