PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Mother to eight-legged Sleipnir,

  Odin's steed faster than any other.

  Father of monstrous children,

  Fenrir Wolf, bound with a ribbon,

  Hel, sweet daughter from waist to head, death below,

  Jormungand, serpent who circled the world.

  Sew my lips up, for my words are faster than yours are.

  Tie my feet, for my shoes carry me across the skies.

  I am the son of giants, not a god like One-eyed Odin.

  Yet, we are brothers.

  Yet, you trust me.

  I bring you humor, I bring you tricks.

  But, you do not see the evil that lies behind my smile.

  Each time you laugh at my misfortune, my heart grows cold.

  Each time I am punished for my tricks, the wall grows higher.

  I am a predator, a betrayer.

  See my mistletoe dart kill great Balder.

  And, in woman's clothes do I refuse to cry.

  Hear my insults at Aegir's feast.

  And, do not think to ask why I say such things.

  My son Vali transformed into a wolf, kills his brother Narvi.

  Take Narvi's guts and bind me, so tightly, to the rock,

  Skadi fastens the serpent above my upturned face.

  The venom in my eyes, the earth quaking as I scream.

  Only faithful Sigyn, wife, stays, catches the poison.

  There, I wait until Ragnarok.

  When Skoll eats the sun,

  And Hati the moon.

  Unchained then I will sail to Vigrid from the North,

  With my children and, their undead followers.

  Fenrir will kill Odin, Jormungand will kill Thor,

  And Heimdall the watcher will kill me dead.

  But I will kill him as I die.

  I am Loki Shapeshifter.

  Who destroyed the world I helped to create.

  You asked me to hide my true nature,

  You wanted a jester, a merry-maker.

  But I am a Betrayer.It's why I was born.

  ***

  I did not want this.

  I wanted only to serve.

  Or so I thought.

  Judas Iscariot.

  One of the great twelve.

  One of His twelve.

  Why did you choose me?

  Of all the men who followed you,

  Flocked to your door,

  Saw your glory, your majesty.

  Your miracles.

  Why me?

  Thirty pieces of silver for a kiss.

  I did not want the money.

  I gave it back.

  Did you know that?

  Did you know how I wept when I saw you,

  Broken and burdened?

  They lied to me.

  They said it was for Jerusalem's good.

  You were out of control.

  The people forgot who they were.

  They saw only you,

  And it stirred rebellion in their hearts.

  There must be a betrayer.

  You must die.

  Or how can you be a martyr?

  How can you die for our sins,

  If you never die?

  So am I betrayer?

  Or am I betrayed?

  You chose me because you knew,

  That of them all,

  I was the most easily swayed.

  I warned you at our meeting, Lord,

  Though the Book does not record that,

  My words are not so important,

  As yours are.

  I was too weak to be a disciple.

  Prone to listening to other's words.

  Did you know how I died?

  Hanging from a tree, just like you,

  Bound by neck, not nails?

  Your name on my lips.

  I am Judas Iscariot,

  Did anyone mourn me?

  The Betrayer?

  My face in stained glass,

  A moneybag in my hand.

  Tears on my cheeks.

  ***

  My father was born of lies,

  Uther Pendragon with another man's face,

  In another man's bed.

  Then how dare he call me bastard?

  Mordred, son of Morgan,

  Son of Arthur.

  Arthur, King of the Britons.

  Mother in her fairy garb,

  Seducing half-brother Arthur,

  Bringing forth half-formed Mordred.

  And, you, Merlin,

  Peregrine whose far-seeing,

  Damned me to Fate's clutches.

  And, what could I do?

  A thousand babes drowned on the day of my birth,

  The romances forget all about that detail.

  Arthur the great king,

  Butchered a thousand to kill one.

  Yet, I

  survived.

  On your round table,

  I laid my heart,

  And called you father.

  I offered you the proof of treason,

  Of adultery underneath your roof,

  In your own bed.

  Wife and best friend,

  Laughing behind your back,

  And, yet, didn't they weep.

  And beg mercy when caught?

  And you forgave them!

  You let Guinevere

  live!

  You let Lancelot

  thrive!

  And, I,

  Who did only a son's duty,

  Was cast out!

  It was my responsibility to protect you,

  You who wished me dead.

  You were surprised, Arthur, when I declared war?

  Did that astonish you?

  Why? Why didn't you know?

  Where was your Merlin, then? Where was your magic?

  I betrayed you to the end, Arthur!

  The pain as your spear cut through me like butter!

  But my hate propelled me upwards.

  Forcing me up that shaft as it tore me asunder.

  So I might bring my sword into your brainpan!

  So, my hatred for you, for myself,

  Could end this betrayal.

  That was always my Fate,

  My responsibility,

  My duty!

  1—The Three

  They sat in a place that might've been Hell, though it had been here longer than that name was known. It had been created in the chaotic times, for those who would worship the darkness, so that they would repent for their crimes.

  The three had been here for longer than they themselves knew.

  There was no ceiling to this round room, or if there was it was so high that it could not be seen. The walls were pocked with blackened windows that filled with demons now and then that watched the trio and laughed and mocked. Gnarled creatures with eyes like coal and twisting horns ringing their heads like sham crowns. Each of these men saw them differently, and each man heard their taunting cries in their own language.

  But they didn't know this. The language of the damned is always the same.

  Screams echoed through the room, sometimes. The tormented souls outside suffered differently than the three who waited in here. They were Betrayers, afforded a special place in the Eternal Confinement, for was their Jailer not a Betrayer, Himself? Did He not rise against one who trusted Him, and was He not cast down for it?

  There was a bonfire in the middle of the room and the three reclined around it on hard marble benches stained black with the soot that did not touch these damned souls.

  They were stained enough already.

  Loki Shapeshifter, Judas Iscariot and Mordred Le Fey.

  Loki was long and thin, fair in the manner of his people. His hair was red as the flames that surrounded him and there was a fine network of scars around his red and green eyes from where the serpent dripped its poison on his face in the time before Ragnarok. His lips too were scarred where once Brokk the Dwarf sewed them shut as punishment for an insult. His legs and arms w
ere shapely but the ankles and wrists bore red never-healing burns from where he broke his chains when the time came for him to end the world.

  Sometimes in this place, he became a woman, who batted flirtatious eyes at the others with mocking laughter on her lips. Sometimes, he was a horse, who nickered softly and paced the room, restlessly. Sometimes he was a bird, who flew upwards, looking for the way out of this room. He could never maintain these forms for long, that power had been limited here in this place, restricted by being reduced to myth. It was how he was chained here, though there were no chains to be seen. Loki was the only one to ever sleep here but when he did he woke up in the middle of a nightmare, flailing at the serpent that was no longer there, feeling the poison's burn on his face, calling for Sigyn, his good and godly wife, who had gone into exile

  with him.

  She was at rest now, now that Ragnarok has come, rewarded for her devotion to an unworthy man who never said a nice word to her. She was at peace but Loki never would be.

  He was forever dressed in only a white fur trimmed tunic and high-laced sandals that he had worn for eternity, a gold torque about his throat the only ornament. He was here in this place longer than the others, longer than this place was even known of. Once upon a time, this place was ruled by his little daughter Hel, but no more. She died at the World's End and this

  place was given to another.

  Judas was next to him, Judas dark and bearded, reddish highlights in his deep brown hair. He did not look at the others. He did not speak to the others. He lay on his back, his brown-almost-black eyes seeking the Heaven that he would never see, the mark of the rope that throttled the life from him burning red on the tan skin. Now and then, his lips moved in prayer, but always they stopped again, as if he had forgotten the words.

  Sometimes despair came upon him and he wept, beat his chest, pulled his hair and tore the pure white robe he wore. Always the rips were mended and the scratches his nails left in his cheeks were healed. The angry welt on his throat would burst and the black blood dried quickly in the heat of this place, but that would never heal. It was the mark of his death.

  "Why?" Judas sometimes murmured. "Why me? My Lord, forgive me."

  Mordred, who called himself Le Fey, was the last. He was a Pendragon by birth, though Arthur never recognized it. The youth who should've been a prince didn't acknowledge it either. He looked like Arthur, though, strawberry-blond and handsome, blue eyes that reflected only pain and heartache. He was small and delicate, barely twenty years of age when he died, well formed except for the one shoulder that raised itself the tiniest bit higher than the other.

  Well that, and, the hidden deformity in his chest.

  Beneath the white and gold velvet tunic that he wore, there was a gaping hole. His heart had been there, but Arthur's rejection had ripped it from him. He had plunged his pike through that empty space, and Mordred's hatred had given him the strength to pull himself up the length of the shaft to kill his murderer.

  That hole had never healed.

  He did not look at the others, either. Why should he? He did not trust people. People turned on him. People judged him. People betrayed him. What good would it do to place his faith in these two? After all, they were betrayers already. That's why they were here.

  There was only the confinement, the mockery, and the waiting.

  So, forever, the three waited. They didn't know what they waited for. They didn't know how long they would wait.

  But, they waited.

  For there was nothing else for them to do. Myth, faith and legend joined in their evil, joined in

  their betrayal, awaiting redemption—maybe—-awaiting an end—certainly.

  2—The Bargain

  It could've been one day. It could've been a thousand years. They had no sense of time here.

  Loki remembered a time when he was alone. Judas recalled Mordred's absence. But they did not know how long ago the final member of their trio had arrived. And he, himself, had no idea

  how much time had passed in the world above.

  Perhaps there was no time here.

  Perhaps there was only suffering.

  Hundreds of thousands of millions of souls screamed in torment outside their sepulcher. The trio rested within. Loki laughed a little in his sleep. Judas stroked the welt on his throat, sleepless as usual. Mordred imagined great battles, conquering kingdoms, behind his closed but sleepless eyelids.

  It was just another moment in their eternal damnation.

  Until suddenly, it wasn't.

  There was a sudden smell of sulfur and, strangely enough, scented oils and He appeared, a chorus of demoniac wails heralding His arrival.

  Their jailer, their tormentor, their lord.

  Lucifer Lightbringer had come to see His kin.

  The trio was alert, instantly.

  Lucifer was beautiful. He stood above His subjects, a gentle look on His face. Golden curls framed His perfect features. His gown was a shining white, almost glowing in the dim light. From His shoulders sprouted huge white-feathered wings, nearly ten feet in

  length, their ruined ends His only imperfection.

  "My children," he said, His voice like silver bells ringing just one note out of synch, the echoes of agonized screams lingering within it, just out of hearing.

  Judas said nothing. He looked away in despair and hatred, but all at himself, not the Fallen One. Mordred dropped to one knee, giving homage to his King. And Loki alone met Lucifer's fiery gaze without flinching, for he and the Devil were brothers, bound by their inhuman natures, and their places in the annals of worshipers who gave homage to their enemies.

  "Are you enjoying your stay?" asked the Fallen One, merrily.

  Norse, Aramaic, Middle English . . . Lucifer did not speak any one of these languages, and yet, they understood. He spoke to them in the tongue of the damned, a dialect they all recognized well.

  "I have stayed in worse places," Loki finally said, a twinge on his scarred lips.

  Lucifer smiled, amused. "Why, so you have, I suppose." He looked around the chamber, spread his elegant arms. "Your last incarceration was a bit rougher than this, was

  it not? No snakes suspended over your face here?"

  "No, my Lord," Loki said. He crossed his long legs, casually, but not arrogantly. He had learned diplomacy in his time amongst Gods. Those who rule expect special treatment. The trickster knew enough to show respect, but not the subservience the two who had been born human showed. "I like this place well enough."

  "Do you?" Lucifer asked, cocking a perfect brow. "And, you, Judas? Mordred? Are you treated well?"

  "What dost thou want us to answer?" Mordred finally, answered. "This is Hell, and, we wait for the end of time. We are damned, and, yet, thy daemons do not punish us. We are mocked and jeered at. But no one comes to force us to atone. Why are we spared whatever infernal torments are administered to those we hear wailing on the other side of these walls? How long must we wait?"

  "Bold Princeling, to question me,” Lucifer scolded, with no real venom in His pleasant tenor. “You are being prepared for something great, my children. For time immeasurable have I allowed you to dwell on your misery, to think about what your crimes

  truly are. And, what have you learned?"

  Silence greeted His question.

  They did not answer. They could not answer. They did not know what it was He wanted them to say.

  Rage filling Him with the suddenness of a thunderstorm, Lucifer spread out his wings and his eyes flashed black fire. "Have you learned nothing? Your deeds are still spoken of in the world above us! You are feared and hated, still! You are the world's greatest villains, and you are damned forever because of it.” Then, just as suddenly, He folded his wings against His back, and the fire in his eyes dwindled to gentle coals. “I offer you an alternative, should you wish to take it."

  Shocked, the trio leaned forwards.

  “Speak,” said Loki, always the brash one. “We have no choice but to list
en.”

  Lucifer strode the outline of the oubliette, for that was what this prison was, was it not? He did not look at the three, instead fixing his eyes on the far distant ceiling as if He could see what they could not. "I will give you the chance to walk the world again. I give you the chance to prove yourselves, revenge your betrayals, be what it is that you were truly meant to be."

  "How can that be?" Mordred asked, too young to be able to hide his hope.

  Smiling to himself, for He knew that He had hooked these fish, Lucifer spoke His plans, benevolently. "I will give you what you most wish. Loki, you shall be an entertainer, for

  you are the merry-maker. Mordred, you shall be a soldier, for you come from a warrior king. And, you, dear Judas, my personal favorite, you shall be an evangelist, for you will spread the Word."

  The proclaimed favorite looked up then and, in a voice clear and strong, asked, "And, what will we pay for this honor? What will you demand of us in exchange?"

  "Suspicious Judas," Lucifer said, fondly. "Don't you trust me?"

  "I trust no one," Judas said, bitterly. "I was lied to. I trusted too much in too many people and I was punished for it. You are the Prince of Lies. You brought evil into the world and I suffer for it. Now, you ask for our trust?"

  "No, Iscariot." Lucifer's perfect hand came to rest on the dark man's shoulder before Judas was even aware He had so closely approached. Judas flinched away but the Fallen One's grip was like iron, " No, I do not ask for trust, only obedience."

  Loki smiled. "Ah, there it is," he said, quietly, not at all surprised.