Strange Nightmares

Strange Nightmares 17

Over the next two weeks, Christine and Stephen helped Loki recover as the rest of Tvania prepared for a festival unlike anything the small neighborhood had ever seen. Every day, Loki got stronger, walked further, ate more, and every day new decorations went up around the village. Someone made a beautiful garland of vines and colorful strips of cloth hung across and between the houses, another group had cleared the field next to the neighborhood and turned it into some kind of sports field with two goals on either side. It seemed like every day someone would bring another bushelful of wild apples and blackberries to ferment into cider, which Loki kept insisting was actually mead.

Loki turned to Dr. Strange one day, much stronger, standing by himself, and obviously annoyed.

"It's mead because I say it is," he'd insisted. "As long as there's a bit of honey and alcohol in it, then that's mead enough for me. It's nothing compared to Asgardian mead but ... "

Loki paused and looked wistfully out the window, tears filling his eyes. Stephen didn't need to ask him what was wrong.

"Some of Asgard survived Thanos' attack," he told Loki, which made him glance over in surprise. "They have a colony on Earth. My version of Earth."

"Is--is Thor ... " Loki stumbled over his words and swallowed his tears. "Did Thanos kill him, like he killed me?"

"Your brother is alive and well," said Stephen with a smile. "And he cut off Thanos' head."

Stephen didn't feel like explaining the complicated, roundabout route his timeline had taken to truly defeat Thanos. Not yet, at least. Thanos' first death was more than dramatic--and satisfying--enough. Loki opened his mouth and let out a sigh of relief, but said nothing more about the subject.

Their friendship grew by the day with small conversations and tiny quibbles over Loki's stubborn will. Loki's trust in Stephen's judgement usually outweighed his petty urge to be right. But of course, Stephen knew he was the pot calling the kettle black. Christine would have said the same thing about Stephen several times over.

Finally, the day of the celebration came and Loki surprised everyone by walking down the stairs by himself, just like he said he would. His hollow cheeks had filled out, and he'd shaven his beard clean. He even had a bit of definition to his gangly arms. He'd dressed himself in a green coat with fur trim that definitely used to be a woman's coat, and some sort of homemade crown made of metal and spiraling goat horns.

"My wedding outfit," he explained to Stephen and Christine. "It's the nicest thing I have."

No one else had adorned any special clothing, besides Sylvie, who wore her wedding tiara made of a band of green painted leather and tiny deer antlers.

Mobius handed a wooden staff to Loki, taller than he was and carved with intricate, spiraling designs. The top ended in the wood forking in two directions, almost like another tiny set of horns. Standing proudly, he looked like a chief, through and through.

They made a procession from the house with the prince and princess in front and the doctors in the back. As they approached the huge bonfire the Tvanians had made in the middle of the street, the village cheered on their leader, many of them having dipped into the store of mead already. An entire deer roasted on a spit above the fire. The animal was a fresh, raw kill, dripping sizzling fat into the flames. Someone hauled two more gutted deer next to the fire hanging haphazardly out of a wheelbarrow, where they waited their turn to be cooked. Stephen hoped they hadn't forgotten about him. There was no way he could force himself to eat something he'd watched cooking with the head still on.

Loki lifted his arms and staff, simultaneously soaking up all the attention from the village and demanding more.

He raised one hand high above his head and shouted with glee, "Let the festival begin!"