Author Games: Ragnarok

Task Four Entries: Gods

Loki

That swirling sense of vertigo sweeps me up again. At first, I think it’s just the sound of Siggy’s voice having its usual effect on me, but then I stumble and crash into the brick wall of an alley. I fall to my knees and vomit. What the hell is happening?

I manage to sit with my back against the wall, successfully avoiding collapsing into my own sick.

Siggy kneels in front of me and fusses over me. “My love—what—what’s wrong, what’s…happening?” Her hands are shaking and she looks exceptionally pale.

As my vision clears, I notice something else about her hands. “Siggy, what have you done to your lovely hands?” I grab hold of them before she can hide them and look closer. They almost look to be stained, as though she’d been painting and couldn’t entirely scrub the evidence off. The hypothetical paint was a light green. “Oh, oh no… Is this from holding the bowl?” I follow the path of the color up her arms and see it grows darker at her shoulder.

“Yes, but I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.” She tries to pull away.

“The Hel it is.” I seize her by the arm and push back her cloak, pull the collar of her dress to the side to expose her shoulder, which is covered in smooth, emerald burns. I feel absolutely dead. “Odin.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now—I found you!”

“He made you take my place.”

“Only fort a short time. As an example.”

“That tyrant. That—that—!” I rattle off a string of curses no man should utter in front of a lady. “It must hurt like a mother! I know mine does!”

“Iduna gave me something for it. She pitied me. Freya showed me how to hide it. She pitied me as well—she invited me to come live in Folkvang, but I said no, no, I must go find Loki, so she lent me this cloak and her chariot.”

A great shadow sweeps over us. Instinctively, I pull Siggy down to sit next to me, tucked against the wall, hissing “Be still!”

It looks like a blimp. A sky-whale. All we can see is the belly as it glides over the buildings. A sharp, piercing cry whips through like a scream. Clawed feet bring up the rear, and the thing is gone.

“I’m insane and I think this day is too weird.”

“What was that?”

“Some sort of demon cockatoo. From the size of it, it can only be one of a few things.” I brace my elbows on my knees and rub my face. I still feel a bit nauseous. “Oh. Oh, damn.” I lick my finger and wave it through the air, then lick it again. I spit, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. “Ugh! Venom!” I turn away from my wife and vomit again. Why do I put unknown substances in my mouth? It never ends well.

“Venom?” Siggy begins to panic. “Loki, you can’t be exposed to venom! You’ve been so exposed already—Loki, you’ll die!”

“I KNOW.” I claw at the wall, trying to get to my feet. “It’s a test. We need to hurry. Help me.” Siggy gets up and slips an arm around my torso pulling my arm around her shoulders, and tries to heave me up, unsuccessfully. “What’s the matter? You’re Asgardian, woman—lift me up.”

“I can’t.”

“I have actually lost weight, excuse you.”

“No, it’s not you, it’s—” She tries again, to no avail. “It’s me.” Her godly strength is gone, it seems, and she’s as frail as she looks.

I attempt to shift my shape, to become a mirror image of her, just to see if I can. I cannot, which is tiresome. “The venom’s made mortals of us both. Okay… Right, okay. Yes. Good. Right-o.”