Loki (11 page)

He became more and more certain that there was some treachery in the act. Why else would the animal leave when the task was so close to being finished? It had pulled free of its own will, but what had made it flee? His horse had never failed its master before. The mason knew it had been something the Aesir had done. They had cheated him of his prize.

He spat in the dust at the thought of it. They prided themselves on their “honor,” but what honor was there in the cowardly stealing away of his beast of burden, simply because they could not bear to lose a bargain? They claimed they were as good as their word, but it was all lies and tricks. They would fulfill a bargain where it suited them, and play underhanded tricks when it did not.

He felt a roiling inside of him, a shifting of energy. He had held something back since before he set out for Asgard. He had not even known it was inside of him before he visited Thiazi, but the sorcerer had let it loose. And then Thiazi had shown him how to hide it, so that even the guardian of Bifrost would not see the truth. But they would all see the truth now. He would give his rage free reign and bring their city down upon them. If he could not have Freyja, then he would crush all of the Aesir under his heels.

He reached Gladsheim and paused for breath. The willpower he had used to keep his chaos energy from spilling out was fading as his anger built. He was already seeing things differently. Gladsheim looked smaller, more vulnerable. His mind felt murkier, as if it were harder to express the thoughts and ideas he had before. He did not feel duller, however, but wilder, as if something had been unstoppered and was now flowing freely.

Gladsheim stood before him. The last time he had been there he had come with a proposal. He had not felt fear then, but there had been a sense of awe for these powerful enemies. These were the gods of Asgard, and he had not taken his entry into their midst lightly. He knew they would attack him if they knew what he really was, but if he had fooled Heimdall, no others would discover him. And even though he was a sworn enemy, he would have honored the bargain. He would have finished rebuilding their wall, better and stronger than it had been built before.

He would not enter with a proposal this time.

He pushed open the massive wooden doors of Gladsheim. Where its entryway had been several heads above him before, the top of his head now scraped it.

The Aesir were assembled, as he knew they would be. They laughed as they saw him, and he felt his blood boil. His sides itched and felt as if something were trying to burrow its way out of his torso. His legs foundered, each step harder to make than the one before. He released the chaos, feeling the tendrils of sorcery peel away from him like a second skin. The Aesir became more and more ugly with every step he took. He did not see powerful figures in shining mail, but misshapen dwarfs with small heads and tiny hands that were too small for their bodies.

One stood at the front of the hall. The mason could no longer recall his name—his memories were fast dimming to be replaced by bitter rage—but he recognized him from his one eye and long beard. He was tall and held a spear, but thin, as if a strong breeze might knock him down. He spoke, but the mason had difficulty understanding the words. One Eye threw a bag at his feet and its contents spilled out. He looked down at the shiny yellow circles and wondered what he was supposed to do with these useless things.

He heard his clothes tearing as he outgrew them, could feel his skull expanding. New arms emerged bloodily from his torso, and he felt the ground under new legs that stood beside the old ones. The feel of cold stone on his newly sprouted bare feet stimulated him, and a smile crossed his misshapen face. He felt satisfaction in seeing the smug looks wiped from their faces as his head was pressed down by the wood and slate ceiling above him. The sound of rending timber and breaking slate was accompanied by the night air rushing in, and the moonlight illuminated the dust falling in around him. The little creatures continued to shrink and shrink, their features full with alarm and their hands grasping their tiny weapons.

He felt the chaos finish shaping him into the essence of what he was, and he had two overpowering thoughts. He saw the one he had come for, the one he had desired, and he felt a hot flush pass through him. He would still have her. His second thought was to crush the bones of the foul little creatures around him, to pound their flesh until they were no more than red stains on the ground. In the distance he registered a horn blow, but his blood-haze of anger quickly emptied the sound of all meaning, and he advanced upon the tiny things surrounding him.

Chapter Seven

Heimdall could hear that something was amiss. It was not the rebuilding of the wall; construction had ceased. The cacophony of the mason’s furious efforts had drowned out virtually all else in the Nine Worlds since his arrival nearly six months ago. But now it was finished. He had noticed the lack of thunderous hoofbeats reverberating throughout Asgard for the past three days, and wondered what had happened to the mason’s horse. The mason himself toiled on. Heimdall could hear each plodding step, laden with the weight of scores of building stones being pulled behind in an immense net.

He had missed the silence of the time before the mason had come, and was glad that it had returned. For a too brief time—hours, only—the pounding and lifting and slamming of block on block had ceased, and he was able to once more hear the rub of crickets’ legs, the soft footfall of deer in the surrounding woods, the low throbbing of ants marching back to their hills. His senses felt reawakened, as if he was once more hearing all these things for the first time. But it did not last long.

At first there was the strange noise of something being broken, bit by bit. It was not anything he could identify, nor was it anything he had heard before. If he had been forced to describe it, he might have called it the sound of a thin shell slowly shattering, but even this did not evoke the quality of the sound he heard. It felt like sadness and anger leaking from a slowly cracking glass bowl.

He dismissed such poetic descriptions with a shake of his head, focusing more on what he heard rather than any attempt to describe it, even to himself. It felt wrong, whatever it was, as if there was something unnatural encroaching upon Asgard. His hand went down to Gjall and he brought it to his lips. He hesitated briefly—he wasn’t sure if this were worthy of sounding the alarm across the Nine Worlds. He lowered the horn slightly and continued to listen.

There was the sound of flesh growing quickly, the sound of blood splattering on stone, small drips that indicated birth rather than slaughter. He heard multiple footfalls, but they were too large and there were too many of them. It was as if several large beings occupied one single space. There was also a deep breathing sound, indicating lungs deep enough for a man to drown in. In an instant he was aware of the danger, and Gjall sent out a warning that shook Yggdrasil itself. He only hoped that it was heard in time.

Tyr had been in thousands of battles, and had seen even more in his lifetime. That was what it meant to be Aesir: the glory of battle, of vanquishing foes and letting your sword sing a blood-song as it carved its way through your enemies. Any type of creature that could be named had met his steel at one time or another: elves, dwarfs, Vanir, humans, and of course, giants. He had suffered countless injuries, and had dealt out countless more. He had faced insurmountable odds with a grim smile, and he had walked away from a battlefield strewn with the bodies of those who had dared to challenge him. His battle prowess was second to none, not even Thor, although even Tyr would admit that no one could match the raw power and strength of the Thunderer. After all the pain and death he had delivered, after all the countless hordes he had faced, he would not have believed that he could still be shaken. And yet, staring up at the monstrosity that towered above them, there was a gnawing in his gut that he had not felt in ages.

It had started innocently enough. The mason strode into the hall, seemingly prepared to accept defeat. He had labored hard and had come close, but had failed to complete the rebuilding of the wall as he had bargained. They had gained nearly all and had lost nothing. And yet they were prepared to reward the mason for his efforts. The Aesir were nothing if not fair.

It had quickly become apparent that something was amiss. The mason looked dazed as he slowly approached the Allfather. He stared beyond the confines of the hall, seeing something that was not there. His gait was staggered and halting. It did not seem to be due to weariness or exhaustion, but something else entirely.

The Aesir exchanged uneasy looks as Odin addressed the mason. He did not respond, but simply took step upon plodding step towards the Allfather. Hands were placed on sword hilts as he drew closer.

It was unnecessary, of course. If the mason intended any harm to Odin, he would quickly find the High One's thin frame belied his strength and battle prowess. Tyr had stood shoulder to shoulder with Odin in too many battles to recount, and had been awestruck at the Allfather’s ferocity. He may look like a decrepit old man, but to face him in battle was to face death itself, and there were none alive that could claim otherwise.

Trepidation turned to alarm when the mason began to change. Tyr noticed that he looked taller than before, and broader as well. As he continued to grow, Tyr realized that they faced one of their mortal enemies: the giants. But he was unprepared for what happened next.

Swords were loosed from their scabbards, but the Aesir hesitated, caught up in the grotesquery they were witnessing. The mason sprouted new legs from his old ones, each new foot hitting the ground amidst blood and torn flesh. New arms sprouted from his torso, punching through his skin and quickly growing to full size. His torso doubled upon itself again and again, each increase spawning more arms, while leg after leg emerged. His head shifted, elongated, and his face became distorted with multiple eyes and mouths set in a random pattern across his face. Some of the mouths groaned, while others screamed in outrage and anger, the effect being not unlike a chorus of misshapen dwarfs. Except the noise came from one vast and deformed head of the creature that had masqueraded as a mason.

It stood over them, and Tyr could see many of the mouths smiling in what looked to him like satisfaction. The creature was impossible—Tyr could not fathom how so many limbs could fit onto its frame in such a haphazard fashion. The creature looked like chaos itself, which was perhaps what it was. None of them had ever seen a giant that looked like this, yet they all instinctively knew that this was what they faced.

Its size alone was greater than anything they had ever seen. Its head had broken through the roof of Gladsheim, raining rubble down on those inside. Every motion of its body destroyed more of the hall. Tyr thought that his own height might just barely rival that of the mason’s ankle, but he was not entirely sure of that. For the first time in centuries, he wondered if this were the day that he—that all of them—might die.

Odin summoned the Einherjar even as Gungnir flew from his hands. The spear sank all the way into the mason’s stomach, and there was a deafening cry of what sounded more like anger than pain as it lumbered towards Odin and brought dozens of massive fists down upon him, quicker than any of them could react. The ground shook with the force of the blows, and the stone floor of Gladsheim caved in, leaving Odin buried and still in the rubble.

The Einherjar quickly streamed into the hall as the rest of the Aesir attacked the mason. Tyr slashed his sword into one of the creature’s tendons, severing it with one expert blow, while the others attacked different areas. Frey loosed arrow after arrow into its back, even while his sword hacked and slashed on its own, Frey’s will being served by his steel as if it were a thing alive. Aegir hurled loose stones and sent them crashing into its head with the fury of a tempest. Sif leaped up and sank her sword into one of its innumerable knees, and the rest of the Aesir attacked other areas, which was not hard because of the sheer size of the giant.

The Einherjar also swarmed, swords and axes sending bits of flesh and blood flying throughout the hall. The mason swept down upon them and picked up dozens in each hand, crushing some, their blood and entrails spilling from his wet paws, and sending others flying to shatter against walls. Some were launched out of the newly opened roof, their cries heard for leagues. Massive deformed feet stomped down upon others, leaving nothing but broken bodies in wet cracks on the stone floor.

The Einherjar fought on, oblivious to the insurmountable nature of this opponent. Tyr saw hands coming at him and slashed out viciously. Fingers the size of tree trunks fell around him, and he was covered with a torrent of gore. The giant was littered with thousands of wounds, yet none seemed to do him any real damage. Tyr would not have even characterized this as a battle. It was more like angry ants attacking a bear.

More of the Aesir were down. Balder lay crumpled against a wall, no match for this chaotic thing. Thor’s son, Magni, who possibly rivaled even Thor’s legendary strength, had been kicked by a monstrous foot and sent crashing through one of Gladsheim’s walls, the bricks tumbling down in response.

The hall around them was crumbling, and there was additional danger from falling blocks and timbers caused by the giant’s flailing. Hundreds of Einherjar had poured in to battle the creature, and hundreds had been ripped to pieces or crushed by massive fists or feet. He wondered if these Einherjar would truly rise again, or if any of the gods might see the next day.