Fallen Star

Fallen Star Chapter 17

During the first flashback, I listened to Beethoven's 7th. You may recognize it from "The King's Speech," and by looking that up, you can easily find this magnificently sad song. In that soundtrack, it is called "Speaking Unto Nations." During the second flashback, I listened to Mozart's "Lacrimosa."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all differences of intellect.

The wisest know nothing."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Loki wrapped his bloody fingers around the chains, arched his back and screamed. The cry wracked his whole body. His consciousness flickered as the iron links rattled against the wet stone. Agony needled into the base of his neck and seared across his shoulders.

Another black drop fell. It hissed as it struck the bare skin of his left shoulder blade. He wrenched back and howled through his teeth. The shackles bit his wrists. Dark blood trailed down his forearms.

He blinked away the sweat from his eyelashes and shot a glance up. His eyes could barely focus—but there, in its niche in the rocky wall, curled the massive, gleaming black snake, its immense head hanging several feet right above Loki's, its mouth lazily opening and closing, its red eyes leering, its fangs oozing obsidian poison that trickled downward over the crag.

Loki stood on a floor of jagged rocks wearing only his trousers, his wrists bound by chains to two natural pillars, his arms stretched above shoulder-level and held out to either side. Straight ahead of him, in a little grotto, bubbled a clear stream of fresh water—water he could never reach unless he tore off both his arms.

Loki's eyes caught motion overhead—his heart hammered erratically as another drop of venom hung poised on the edge.

He ground his teeth, closing his hands into white-knuckled fists as he pulled down on the shackles, trying to break the chains. The sharp metal chewed into his flesh. He did not care—the poison was worse. The poison—

It fell. It hit his right shoulder.

It was as if a red-hot shaft of steel had plunged straight down through him, penetrating his bones and lungs and gut. He thrashed, gasping a lungful of cold air, his eyes going wide. Smoke rose from the new wound and stank. Three more gasps tore through his chest, then sharp grunts tightened his abdomen. His stomach turned over—he knew he would soon be sick. His knees felt like water, and the muscles in his back and arms shivered uncontrollably.

"What—can't you bear your punishment?" a rough voice taunted from behind him. "The great Loki the Cunning, simpering like a woman!"

"Never thought I would see the day," another voice answered—they belonged to the two guards that stood a way behind him in the canyon, making certain he did not escape.

"You had better keep silent, you sons of dogs," Loki rasped, twisting his head toward them. "Or I swear I will murder you both when I am free."

"More to add to your list?" another voice cut in—but these deep tones sliced straight through Loki's heart. He jerked his head to the front again and bit the inside of his cheek. Just then, another drop of venom struck his spine.

His teeth snapped together as his arms twitched—his footing slipped on the stones. Blood filled his mouth. And for the first time, hot tears tumbled down his face.

"You think you deserve less, little brother?" that same voice thundered as heavy footsteps came up behind him. "How could you do something like this—to all of us?"

"You think I meant to kill him?" Loki gritted, blood spilling from his lips and trailing down his chin. "Truly, that's what you think. After all the ages we've known each other—you think I am a murderer."