Loki of Vanaheim (Part 3)

Calling (LOKI)

The wind whistled like a siren's call over my ears while we ran. The steed was excited to stretch his legs properly; he bolted as soon as we left the threshold of the fortress. We aimed for the valley below instead of climbing the rest of our mountain toward Don, which was likely the common path the horse's master took him on. An adventure for us both.

I wasn't certain I'd find the Vidar as easily as I hoped, since I'd only ever traveled to the great city and back when the fortress was my starting place. I had to rely on my now-fading memory and travel backward to the portal fields. When Sigyn was granted a second chance at life, I never looked back, certain my trespass on Vanir magic would somehow undo the gift given to us both.

But my dreams were too potent. There was no mistaking my next task, with or without Freyr's permission or guidance. I needed to see what kind of threat Gorr posed to my family.

The moons were behind me, watching me, but I didn't let up. My new companion was forgiving and didn't fight me at all. Years had passed since I last rode alone, and I suddenly felt a deep pull in my belly of nostalgia for time spent with Thor on Asgard's plains. He struggled to stay upright with his oppressively wide form, while I allowed my height to act as an extension of the beast. He was fumbling where I was regal—a prince by right and reason.

Now, in my green tunic and tied-back hair, I felt the weight of age and time. Yet it was comfortable and freeing, in a way, to not have the constant preoccupation with selfish interests. As long as every step forward was for the benefit of someone else, I didn't bother with how tired I was or how my shoulder ached after saddling the animal. I had one aim and would not rest until it was complete.

The heat of midday chased us into a thicket of trees that grew taller with each row inward. Darker and darker with each step, we wandered. My eyes refused to adjust, and I squinted, desperate for anything remotely familiar to guide me, yet the surroundings were altogether foreign. Why hadn't I told Sigyn where I was going in case I didn't return by moonrise?

The horse blustered a few times and shook his head, slowing from a heavy trot between the trees to a stern walk. His every step was calculated, to the point that he virtually ignored my command of the reins. Instead of fighting him, I let go. It couldn't be worse than relying on my own instincts when I could no longer tell what direction we were traveling anyway. This was his world, after all.

Streaks of bright sun cut through the canopy. Beyond the next row were towers of boulders—one right after the other, spreading in a horizontal line far into the distance, each one in a varied state of disrepair.

Has no one come through since I returned? The horse paused to graze, and I dismounted. Leaves crunched under my feet and echoed off nothing, like the forest itself was walled in. I knelt to feel the ground with my hand and closed my eyes.

Parched. No water nearby or from the skies. I inhaled deeply and registered the animal behind me. Another whiff of the air, and my face tickled from the dust, though not enough to sneeze.

I stood again and walked alongside the row of portals, followed by the horse who did not need to be tugged along. He understood his role well enough.

A howl of wind called me from the north. I tipped my head to make sure it was real, as the air itself was stagnant and suffocating. There was no mistaking it. A cry of nature whined ahead, not like quiet breath between the trees. No—this had more body. A cave or a cavern. Perhaps even larger. My heart knew it, too. I mounted the horse again and ran. With luck, my foolish younger self had left a sign behind.

For the first time since leaving the fortress, I felt light. Like Sigyn was in the saddle with me, carrying me to the hopeful future she always spoke of without irony. If she was with me, she'd tell me to press on and stop questioning my strengths. Mother would do the same. And if Vali and Narvi had any say, it would surely be a chorus of cheers for my success.