The Bargain

Chapter 55: Fifty-fifth Installment

Fifty-Fifth Installment: Silence of the Darkness

Nidavellir, Hel thought with a little smile, was not a place she oft visited. In fact, she'd been there only once, and that was almost a millennium ago. As she made her careful way to the huge, iron-wrought gates of the city walls, she heard a shout go up. Well, she couldn't exactly blame them. No one could mistake Hel for a common traveler, and the goddess of the Underworld only appeared to the dying or the dead.

The heavy gates groaned open, and two enormous dwarves stood just within. Their battleaxes were drawn, and though they weren't pointed right at her, neither one looked friendly nor welcoming.

"Lady Hel," one of them grunted. "This is unexpected. What business do you have here?"

Wanting very much to be out of the warmth and sun, Hel nevertheless cast back her hood. No light reflected off her long, straight black hair. It was dull and without shine. It made her look like a corpse, she had been told.

"I must speak with Brokkr," she said. "It is a matter of supreme urgency. Tell him I wish to help search for something that has been taken, something we both love very much."

The dwarf cast a look over his shoulder, and Hel heard the thump of booted feet racing off. At least they weren't dallying around and delaying. Of course, when Hel left Helheim, no matter where she went people took her seriously. I didn't ask to be made the queen of Hell, but at least Odin's assignment ensures when I have need for speed, it is answered.

The dwarves did not invite her in while they waited for the messenger to return, and Hel didn't begrudge them that. She wasn't kept waiting long. The thunder of booted feet told her several dwarves were returning, and she was pleased to see Brokkr at their head. The leader of the city looked a little winded as he pushed between the two gate guards.

"Lady Hel," he said. "Is this about Prince Loki?"

"Yes," she murmured, looking at the gawping dwarves. "I have an idea how to find him, but I will need your assistance."

"Anything," he said at once, beckoning her to follow.

When they were alone, Hel removed her long black cloak.

"What can we do?" Brokkr's brother, Sindri, asked.

Always more impatient, that one. "Loki gave you a vial of his seiðr, did he not?" she asked.

"Yes," Brokkr said, sounding hesitant. "How can that . . . ?"

"It is something that belonged to him," Hel explained. "Intimately. I'm certain I can use it to trace his location."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Sindri said. "Do it. Can you do it right here and now?"

"No," Hel replied with a ghost of a smile. "I will need to be home, I did not bring the necessary tools with me. I will take the vial with me, if that is all right."

"Take it, then," Brokkr said. "It is not full any longer, we have used some. Will that make a difference?"

She shook her head. "I should only need a little."

"Use it all, if you must," the elder dwarf said. "We would rather have our prince safe and sound than a vial of seiðr."

Her smile grew a little. "I rather feel the same."

Sindri rushed off, and Brokkr faced her with a deep frown.

"Is this really possible? Can you really do it?"

"There is no guarantee," she admitted, "but I am confident. It is, after all, a little trick I learned from Loki himself."

Brokkr stared over her shoulder. "So clever, he is. It would be a tremendous blow to all Nidavellir if he . . ."

This time, her smile was more of a smirk. "Have no fear of that. If anyone could survive the crush of the universe itself, it would be him."

That elicited a whisper of a chuckle from the hairy-faced dwarf, and Sindri came bolting back into the room, hands clutched to his breast. He held out a vial that fit snugly in her palm.

The glowing contents were slightly warm to the touch. The color was a soft but vibrant green, shimmering like liquid light within its glass prison. Exquisite, really. Bottling seiðr was a feat impossible for all but the most skilled mages, for this was not the magic's natural state. Hel had never actually seen it done before.

"Thank you," she murmured, sliding it carefully into her belt.

They escorted her out, and she was grateful for their hurry. As the ruler of Helheim, small talk was not her strongest talent.

oOo oOo oOo

She does not care about beginnings and endings. Those are small, insignificant things. Every life has a beginning, it has an inevitable end. Its very nature dictates all things will eventually come back to Her, so She does not worry about death, destruction, chaos, and war. They all must eventually come to an end, even if they last eons upon eons. Everything will settle back into the ultimate ebb and flow of all life.

So She does not feel inclined to help him, to save a realm. Or even all nine of them.

"Death," She says, "is not the end. There is no reason to fear it."

I am not afraid, he thinks. Fear is for the sane. Fear is for those in their own minds enough to actually understand.

"Are you ready?" a voice says from far, far away. "This probably won't work, but I have to start somewhere."

Pain suddenly washes everything away in a tide of blazing white. He screams, but the sound gets choked in his throat by red. The blood tastes like a grave. Sweet decay. He does not understand what's happening to him. He cannot see anything except gold. But ribbons of fire are carving lines through his body, starting from his neck and working all the way down to his feet.

There is a disturbing clench in his belly, and heat suddenly spews from his mouth. He hasn't been this aware of his own body in quite some time, he thinks. He can feel his muscles start to spasm and shake, straining against bonds he can neither see nor feel, but they are holding him securely.

"Are you afraid of dying?" She asks.

His eyes roll back in his head, mouth gasping for air he can breathe no longer. But then blood pours down his throat, thick and constricting, so he quickly lets his head fall toward his chest again. A wet splatter, more heat on his lips. He finally manages to open his eyes and stares blearily at his own thin, naked body. Thick rivers of molten gold are flowing down his body, shored up by his own flesh. There is a wide pool of blood beneath him.

Dying. Afraid? No. He thinks he might even welcome it.

A shadow falls over him, and he remembers Thanos. Unbearable heat abruptly builds in his chest, and his head snaps up, striking the surface behind him. He can't feel it. He doesn't try to scream this time. He can't draw in enough air.

The crystal rod through his chest, wider than his finger, is blazing with Mad Titan's seiðr. He is trying to control Yggdrasil, maybe. But he amends that assumption when a different kind of pain fills him.

Green rises to the surface of Loki's skin. His eyes widen in sudden horror. No. No, you cannot do this to me. He wants to scream. To protest with every fiber of his being. But he can't breathe, he can only watch as Thanos uses that terrible rod to draw Loki's seiðr out of his body and replace with Mad Titan's. Watch as green is replaced with dark blue. His body shrieks in agonized disapproval. This is wrong.

Unnatural.

"It's all right, little one. Let yourself sink down into me. I will protect you."

For the first time, he thinks that wouldn't be so bad.