Curse Of Blood: Gods & Monsters

Chapter LXI⎮ Loki

Twelve moons later...

In one of his rare and more poignant moods, Loki wandered through the darkness of Niflheim, head bowed thoughtfully and hands clasped behind his back as he passed beneath the stray beam of sunlight straining through the aperture in the ceiling.

Absently, he kicked at the dry bone lying in his path — what was left of a human mandible, two yellowed teeth still rooted therein. It skidded along the dank floor and, with a hollow sound, finally struck the moldering skull from which it had lately been torn. It echoed off the blackened walls of the cavern chamber, but Loki gave the bones no more thought than he did the flattened beetle beneath his boot.

He ducked his head beneath the draping root strands and entered the hidden chamber, his sharp eyes easily slicing through the blackness. Once inside the little space, he straightened up and coursed his gaze over the flat rock, opposite the entryway, and the runes carved therein.

The runes were cleverly arranged like Yggdrasil, and in a way the display was indeed a tree of life — a bloodline tree. And there, at the very topmost bough, was his name beside Aila's. His beautiful Aila.

Beneath the symbols sat the eagle and on his beak was perched the hawk. On another branch, at the opposite end, there sat two large ravens. From thence the bifurcations descended — from Renic and Brenna did Freyja come. And From Roth and Frida, Finn and Freki. But there, after Frida, was Heida. And from her branch was Laila begotten. Poor, tragic little Laila.

Renic had done an excellent job of etching the symbols, deep and clear. But Loki was in no mood to admire all that he had wrought. Not on this the anniversary of Aila's death.

His schemes and feats had not come to fruition without sacrifice. Without ever meaning to, he had lost his heart after all. But she had been worth it all.

At length he left the chamber, making his way back past the forgotten bones, through the serpentine tunnels, and, eventually, back into the sunlight. From there he divagated through the forest, the trees dressed with crimson foliage. But it was he that was the beast in the woods today, not Renic.

Finally he reached the edge of the woods and betook himself up and over the rolling fields towards the village, the sound of feasting already underway. From the shadow world he watched them, his presence no more than a ripple in the wind as he walked unseen around them.

And there was Eirik the Hammer Claw with his new bride on his lap, the cheers erupting as she kissed him soundly. He had always liked Aila's brother, and Thora was a good match for him. His sister would have been much pleased.

He pulled his gaze from them and studied his son atop the dais overseeing his drunken thanes like a benevolent god — but Odinssonn or no, he would always be of Loki's blood. Yet it was not this thought that curled his lips but the little child who sat propped atop Renic's lap. Freyja whose hair was already as red as her mother's; whose eyes were already as light as barley.

He shook his head, amused, as he spied a laughing pregnant Brenna with her mother. Little doubt had he of her ever not being with child, Renic being the man he was, and this amused him.

As for Epona, there too he harbored no doubts: she would love her granddaughter fiercely and the sons that would follow. They were in good hands here. That outlander had ever been a shrewd one, excepting, of course, in the instance of her only child's paternity. But if believing Brenna the last link to her homeland, and her past glory, was all that had kept her sanity intact then who was he to hold her blindness against her. Only a god, he thought with a smirk.

Ahh, but his quick-witted Brenna had unraveled things for herself, ever the gifted little witch. She was by far his favorite mortal, now that his Aila was gone from this realm. And Renic had been a fool to think himself resistant to Brenna; the woman was as wily as her daughter's namesake — she too would have made a fine goddess.