Frey paused for a moment. “Jealousy? Spite? Revenge on those who were your brethren?”
Loki laughed to himself, just loud enough for Frey to hear. “Despite your wisdom, you are still new to the ways of the Aesir. They deceive you by setting you against me. For his crimes against me and my kin, I had to slay him, by the very code of the Aesir. It is not for his murder that they punish me.”
Despite his wariness, Frey looked the slightest bit intrigued. “Why then, if not for Balder’s murder?”
“
Tell me, Frey, how has it been to be away from your homeland? Has life in Asgard been the same as what it was in Vanaheim?”
Frey curled his lip slightly. “You seek to bait me,” he said calmly. “You cannot. I am at peace with my choices.”
“
Were they your choices, Frey? Did you decide for yourself to leave Vanaheim to be a hostage to erstwhile enemies? You would sacrifice much for peace. Tell me, are you appreciated for this sacrifice? Do the Aesir offer you tribute and accept you fully into the fold?”
A quick flash of something other than contentment crossed Frey’s face, and then was gone. He did not, however, respond to the question.
“
Do you begin to see, Frey? My children were punished as well. What crimes did they commit?”
Frey narrowed his eyes, but again did not respond.
“
You do not answer because you know the truth already. They were punished not for what they had done, but for what they are. They were kidnapped and imprisoned for daring to be my kin. Do you begin to see, Frey? Do you see how ones such as we are treated?”
Frey responded, somewhat weakly. “It is not the same. You and I are—”
“
It is the same!” Loki willed his voice stronger. “I am here on this rock because I dare to be unlike those I lived with for so long. I am here because my blood is stained with the taint of an enemy. It is no matter that I have saved Asgard and the Aesir countless times; there is always the one sin that can never be forgiven!” He paused and gauged the expression on Frey’s face. He was not sure if his words were convincing, but there seemed at least to be some effect.
“
If I am here now because I am not one of the Aesir, how long might it be before you find yourself at odds with those you now call your kin? I once thought that I belonged. Do you remember how I was cast out, Frey? You were there. You heard Odin’s words. I was ever to be an enemy to Asgard by the word of the High One. When will it be your turn to be cast out? When will you and your sister face the wrath of the Aesir for the brazenness of being unlike them?”
Frey met Loki’s silent stare with equal silence. There was a glimmer of hope that he had found a common thought, that the Vanir prince that he had never trusted, never liked, had seen the similarity. He felt some strength returning, but it was not enough, and there was something about the bonds that drained him, prevented him from using his power.
After long moments of silence, Frey spoke. “You twist the truth. We are not as alike as your mind has conceived. It is true that both our ways are different from the Aesir, but you ever seek to subvert the order around you. You claim it is your person and not your actions that condemn you, but the two cannot be so easily separated. I can sense the disorder raging inside of you, as can the High One. It is as clear to me as it is to Odin, I am certain, that you will be the cause of much death and destruction.”
“
So I am to be cursed for what I might possibly do? How can you be so sure that Odin tells the truth about the future? The Allfather schemes and manipulates to suit his whims. He allowed Balder to be murdered! He knew I was there in Gladsheim! Has he revealed this to his 'children'?”
Frey stared at him, an uncertain look on his face. “You lie.”
“
Are you so certain? Do you trust all that he tells you? How many Vanir did he slay in the wars?”
“
We were at war. There is peace now.”
“
For now, while it serves his purpose. But do not fool yourself that he will not turn on you and your kind when his whims change. I was once at his right hand; he raised me as his own son. And now I am sacrificed. If he will sacrifice two of his sons, do you truly believe that a former enemy is safe from his schemes?”
Frey did not answer.
“
Set me free, Frey. We have had our differences, but together we can convince the others of Odin's manipulations. He cannot be allowed to use those around him as pawns for his arcane purposes. He must be opposed.”
There was the slightest hesitation before Frey spoke. “I have long known the enmity you hold for my sister and I. I had not felt the same for you, and had hoped that we could be like kin. But that time is past. Your crimes are too great, and you will not ensnare me with your words.”
Loki felt the disappointment stab into his gut. His hope of kinship dashed, he spit out venom. “One Eye will regret sparing me, for I swear to you that I will be free from these bonds.”
“
Perhaps. I do not understand why the High One has decreed that you yet live, for I sense that no good can come of your continued existence. You will suffer for it, however. He has said that you will suffer as no other has before.”
“
When I am free, I will bring carnage to the Nine Worlds. None,” he stared pointedly at Frey, “will escape my wrath.”
“
You will have little time to think on it. Notice the serpent embedded in the rock above you.”
Loki looked up to see the sinuous thing that coiled over his head. It barely moved, resembling a carved figurehead more than anything else, but he did see its faint breathing and the regular flicking of its forked tongue, sensing the air around it. He heard Frey chanting the sacred runes and carving out invisible signs in the empty air in front of him. He cried out as something acidic touched his cheek and began boring a hole into his face.
“
You will not be left alone in your torment, however.”
Out of the corner of Loki’s eye he saw a familiar figure stride into view. Her face was red and tear-stained, and she held a small bowl in her hands. Along with the physical pain of the acid burning into his face, he felt the bitter regret of his betrayal of Sigyn. She who had never wronged another, who had stood by his side no matter what, she who had accepted him as one of the Aesir even while the others spurned him. He had left her, had cast her away without a second thought. And now to have her company in these hours of his impending doom added further injury.
He knew why they sent her, and he felt a rage in his chest at their foul play. It was not enough that they hurt him and his descendants; they had to further increase the insult by bringing in this blameless creature—one of their very own!—to suffer alongside him.
“
Sigyn, you should not be here,” he said, the sorrow and regret overpowering even the pain. “I have not been kind to you.”
“
She will not answer you, by Odin’s decree. But she will ease your pain, allow you time to heal.”
Frey nodded to Sigyn and she moved next to Loki, holding the bowl up over his head. The pain lessened to a dull burn. He looked over at her and followed her upheld arms to the snake embedded above him. From its bared fangs issued a thin ribbon of venom. The bowl caught the stream, and he could feel his flesh reknitting itself. But it was shallow and would soon be full.
He looked back down to Frey and noted that it would be long moments waiting for Sigyn to empty the bowl and return. In that time, the venom would flow freely down his face, into his mouth, and through his body. He had felt a mere drop; the agony from the continuous running of this slaver would be inestimable.
He screwed his face up and sent a look of utter hatred at Frey. The momentary respite that Sigyn’s bowl offered was no favor. If the venom continued to flow he would die, his immortal flesh only capable of so much regeneration before he simply succumbed and sank into painful oblivion. Instead, he would have time to heal, just enough to mend the scorched and bloody path of the venom so that when it started anew, there would be newly grown flesh to melt through. And if Odin commanded it, faithful Sigyn would stay by his side for eternity, the two locked in a twisted embrace that bound them far more than their wedding bed.
“
It is my crime, not hers! You cannot leave her here with me!”
“
The will of the High One is not to be questioned.” Frey turned and then paused. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Perhaps you do not deserve this fate, but that is not for me to decide. I hope that your suffering does not continue forever.” He turned and walked out of the cave, leaving Loki staring after him.
Eventually he looked up at the bowl held over his head. His wife’s tears flowed freely, and they struck his face where the venom had burned him only moments ago. His mood changed from rage to bitter sorrow to hopeless despair, and cycled back again and again in the space of mere minutes while he watched the bowl slowly fill with venom.
Sigyn looked down at him with deep sorrow on her face, and then the bowl was filled. She pulled it away and let the venom stream downwards.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fenrir’s agony was constant, the blade of the sword continually slicing into his maw, Gleipnir digging into his skin and muscle, every small movement causing it to tighten further. Worse was his all-consuming anger, the rage at his powerlessness becoming more and more furious. He could not accept the eternal torment he was faced with, and the thought that he would never be free only caused him more anguish, turning his soul blacker.
At first his dark thoughts of revenge centered on Balder and Tyr. He envisioned sinking teeth into them and ripping them apart. He would crack open their bones and swallow the marrow while they watched, helpless while he devoured them slowly, savoring every bite.
As the pain and anguish increased, he included all of the Aesir in his fantasies, imagining rending flesh and spilling innards, always with them still alive as he tore them open. Freyja’s neck would be ripped out, he would chew on Thor’s severed arm with hammer still in hand, Odin would be choked down his throat still alive, grasping for some handhold to pull himself out of Fenrir’s steaming gullet.
When even these thoughts failed to give him satisfaction, he became more bestial and blind to anything resembling thought or reason, and instead envisioned nothing but abstract images of violence, blood-red and intense. He ceased sensing the things around him and became nothing more than what they had thought him to be: a crazed and wild beast intent on pure destruction. But the inability to exact this fury only drove him further and further into an insane rage that fed itself and continually failed to be sated. If he had not been so tightly bound, he would have ripped himself to shreds in his unadulterated fury.
There was a moment, however, when the slightest sliver of consciousness returned to him. He became aware of his own berserker rage, and in that awareness some of the fury faded, if only the slightest bit. The world outside of him returned to his consciousness, and the agony of his predicament became more concrete, less of an overwhelming and unbearable suffering. The pain did not recede, but his ability to grasp his circumstances returned. His bestial nature, while still aroused and furious, waned to give voice to understanding.
What had changed? What had brought him out of the all-consuming, blind rage?
He saw nothing, but there was a presence. It felt oddly familiar. It felt as if some outside force was there with him, but it was a force that he was connected to. He realized that someone or something was trying to contact him.
He closed his eyes, sending the pain from Gleipnir and the sword to a distant place where he could focus on the other presence. He realized that he would not have been able to dampen the pain without the existence of this outside force.
There were no words, but there was a clear communication being attempted. He felt sadness and pain, and above all, anger. This presence echoed his own primal thoughts. Without clearly understanding why or how, he opened himself to it, welcomed it. He felt the presence pervade his body, awakening something within him that he had not been aware existed.
He felt a roiling energy within him, something that had fed his strength without him knowing it, and promised him more power than he had ever known before. Almost unconsciously he willed the energy outward, and for the first time since his binding he was able to loosen Gleipnir's coils. He did not apply physical force so much as will Gleipnir to release tension. The surprise he felt when the bond relaxed was palpable. He seized upon this faint hope of reprieve and focused his attention again on using the force of his will to further stretch his bonds.
Gleipnir strained against him, its coils resisting. He used his emerging power to increase his strength while he simultaneously pulled on Gleipnir. He felt his muscles expanding, pushing further and further against the slowly loosening coils. The bonds cut into him, but still he strained, ignoring the fierce resistance of the fetter. Fenrir tossed his head and shoulders to and fro, each violent jerk loosening the bonds further, ignoring the pain of the sword slicing into his muzzle.
Gleipnir fought him. The dwarfen craftsmanship defied his continued assault. It was not alive, but the dwarfs imbued all their works with their souls and spirits, and these objects did not break or fail easily. Gleipnir was no mere silken strand, but a thing that came as near to a primal force of nature as a creation could be. But it was now facing the determined wrath of a creature carved from pure chaos, one who was now being awakened to a sense of his true nature.