Among the Asgardians: The Goddess of Love

Tell Me Everything You Know

Oh, bloody hell, I thought. "Why is it that every time I lose consciousness I come here?" I asked.

"You wish to come here. That is why you come. You have learned to dream walk, as I have," Loki replied. "I trust you are confused after the last memory I showed you?"

"A little," I admitted. "I was just sixteen, and you were at least six or seven years older than me. How is it that we're the same age now?"

"I am a god. I do not age."

"Right. Gods are immortal," I muttered.

"This next memory is yours," Loki said, placing his hand on my face. "I fear this may be hard for you to see, but it is a part of you, and you must know it." There was a bright flash of light and I found myself on Vanaheim.

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Vanaheim was the breadbasket of the greater eight realms. Midgard was the only one who did not get its food supply from here. They were rumored to grow their own food.

I had been here now for five years. I had been demoted to a burlap. Vanaheim was no place for a tunic. The other slaves and I worked from sunup to sundown in the wheat fields, breaking our backs beneath the sweltering double suns.

Because it had two suns, the undeveloped parts of Vanaheim were rich, tropical jungles, similar to Pandora from the movie Avatar. It was just as dangerous as Pandora, too. Vanaheim had huge predator animals that would tear you to bits if you got too close. There was one, called a Nantor, that even seemed to kill just for fun. It had claimed the lives of too many Chitauri to count.

Here on Vanaheim, the Chitauri were our overlords. They worked us relentlessly without reprieve and beat us if we paused for even a minute. My back was black and blue with bruises from their blows. It was harder for me to cope with the steamy heat of Vanaheim after growing up on Jotunheim, its complete opposite, and I therefore tired faster than most of the slaves, including Choy, who had worked here since I had seen her last.

Yes, Choy and I had found each other again. It was one of those odd coincidences that makes you extremely happy. I hadn't seen her since my hand left her grasp the day I was bought by Jargon. She had been bought by one of the Chitauri and taken to Vanaheim. She was used to the labor, and I envied her for it. However, she envied me as well.

She knew I had grown up as a tunic. Choy had dreamed of being a tunic since she was old enough to know what one was. She hated the rough material the burlaps wore, and she was a prissy girl who hated the grime that built up on her skin and in her hair, and she loathed the dirt under her nails. I had made her the gift of a yellow, silken tunic from Asgard. She was fascinated by all the pretty things I had taken from there.

I still had all the tunics and diamonds and things I'd worn in Asgard. I kept them with me, hidden in the box Jargon had given me. The box was no bigger than a dice, but I kept twenty tunics, all my diamonds, and the engagement ring from the dead woman's finger in there. I still had the ring, after the years I'd spent on Vanaheim. It was my most prized possessions. It reminded me that I still had a purpose: to avenge the unknown woman's death. I kept the ring in the box at all times, and the box I kept tied into my hair so it was with me at all times.

Vanaheim wasn't all bad, however. I loved the landscape. The waving wheat fields, kissed by moonlight, were one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. They were like a river of liquid silver.

Vanaheim at night was so peaceful. Sometimes, I would crawl out of my cabin at night when I couldn't sleep and let the cool dampness of the tropical night take over me and wash away all my fears and the pain of the day's beatings. I would lie there, in the wheat fields, and sleep the night away. But I always awoke before the first sun rose in the sky. If I failed to make it back before dawn, the Chitauri would discover my absence and beat me most severely. They were very cruel and very strict, but I tried to avoid the Chitauri for other reasons. The beatings I could handle. Bruises fade in time. I dreaded Chitauri for another reason.