Chapter 40 #2
“So let me get this straight,” Mason said at last. “We travel all the way to literal hell to meet you, and your only thanks is to trick one of us into becoming your slave—or else die.”
“Just so we’re clear,” said Loki, motioning to one of the servants waiting beside him. The servant opened a pouch at his side, pulling out a glass flask filled with clear liquid. “I tricked no one. Your sister asked for this. Begged, really. I merely granted her request.”
“Only because you forced her hand!” Mason argued. “You made it clear that you wouldn’t heal Elias without receiving something in return.”
“Is that what I did?” Loki asked, holding out a hand. The servant passed him a shot glass, filling it with a small measure of the clear liquid. “Because as far as I remember, I never asked for anything. Charlie is the one who spoke without thinking.”
Charlie bristled at his words. “You have no idea what I—”
“And as to your claim that you came all the way here to meet me, Mason…” Loki turned, holding the shot glass out to her brother. “Don’t lie to yourself, boy. You didn’t come here to meet me; you came because you wanted something from me.” He raised an eyebrow. “There’s a difference.”
Mason narrowed his eyes at the glass. He didn’t take it; instead, he raised one hand and slapped it to the ground. It bounced and rolled, dumping its contents on the floor, but didn’t shatter. The servant bent over and scooped it up before it could be absorbed by the crowd behind them.
Loki frowned, holding out a hand to his servant for another shot glass. “That’s expensive aquavit you just wasted.”
“I don’t care about your stupid aquavit,” Mason said.
“I don’t care that you think we only came here because we wanted something from you.
I care that you’re our father”—at this word, Loki’s eyes flared, and he looked like he wanted to slam his palm over Mason’s mouth—“and you’re going to let your own child walk right into what may very well be her death.
” Mason’s face twisted with disgust. “Gods, all the stories were right about you. Every single one. How you murdered Balder in cold blood. How you let the gods capture your own children, let them chain Fenrir to a rock and banish Hel to hell and toss Jormungandur into the sea…” He spat on the floor at Loki’s feet.
“You’re the worst father that Asgard has ever seen. ”
It happened in an instant. One moment, Loki was standing calmly, listening to Mason’s tirade; the next, he spun around, reared back the hand holding the second shot glass, and threw it at the wall, missing Mason’s head by mere centimeters.
Mason gasped, ducking his head. The glass shattered, shards spilling to the floor in a deafening shower.
The crowd behind them froze. No shuffling. No whispers. No passing bets. They were riveted, wanting to see what their god would do to this insolent visitor.
“First of all,” Loki hissed, advancing on Mason with an expression that was even but somehow still radiating fury, “you are not my children. I’ve never seen either of you before in my life.
And second”—he took another few steps toward Mason, whose eyes widened—“even if you were my children, you have no idea of what you speak. You think you know who I am as a man? As a father?” As Loki advanced, Mason stumbled backward, keeping his terrified eyes locked on the god.
“On what grounds? Based on a couple of silly stories you read in a book written by people who never knew me? Stories that have been twisted and mutated with time, changed to fit the needs of the person telling them?”
Mason hit the stone wall; he could retreat no farther. Loki came to a stop inches away from him. Earlier, Charlie had thought that they were about the same height, but Loki seemed to tower over her brother now. Had she been wrong before? Or had the god somehow made himself taller?
“You know nothing,” Loki whispered, his voice seething, “nothing of who I am as a father. Of what I’ve done for my children.
You know only what the gods want you to know, and what they’ve wanted—what they’ve always wanted—is to cast me as the villain.
To make the world believe that I am the root of all evil and misdoings, even after everything I did for them. Even after I made them who they are.”
“I don’t—” Mason started.
“You speak of Balder’s murder,” Loki interrupted. “No doubt you’ve heard the version of the story where I trick Frigg into revealing that mistletoe can harm him, and then fool Balder’s blind brother into throwing the dart?”
Mason’s head bobbed in a tiny nod.
Charlie was shocked that Mason knew this much about Norse mythology. She’d thought that she was alone in her obsession, but Mason must have been doing exactly what she was, just one wall over.
“You know what’s so funny about that story?
” Loki asked, straightening so that he wasn’t looming right in Mason’s face.
“Everyone believes it. Even if they’ve read all the other stories about me, they buy Balder’s death without question.
” His voice rose to a high, mocking tone.
“Of course Loki did that. Loki is bad. Loki is evil. Whenever something goes wrong, it’s always Loki’s fault. ”
He paused, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was flat. Dead. “No one ever pauses to really analyze the story. To pick out the obvious fault in its telling. The thing that makes it different from every other myth.”
“Your motive,” Charlie blurted out.
Mason and Loki startled, looking over at her in surprise. The god of mischief raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Go on.
She hadn’t planned on saying the words aloud.
They’d come out of their own accord, spurred on by the memory of how she’d felt after reading the story of Balder’s death.
By the discomfort she’d felt. Because she’d been repulsed by what Loki had done, yes, but she’d also been confused. It hadn’t rung true.
Charlie cleared her throat, glancing between Mason and Loki. “In every other story,” she went on, “your misdeeds have a motive. You or the other gods stood to gain something from them. But in the story of Balder’s death, you act without reason. You kill him for the sake of killing him.”
“That’s exactly right,” said Loki, his voice softening slightly. “Tell me: Does that really sound like something I would do? Murder Odin’s favorite son for no apparent reason? Me, who built my life on surviving by being clever?”
Charlie didn’t know how to answer.
“So, what?” asked Mason. “Are you saying that you didn’t do any of the things in those stories?”
Something unreadable flashed through Loki’s eyes. His gaze flitted between Charlie and Mason. At last, he exhaled, turning to continue his walk down the passageway. “I’m saying,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder, “don’t believe everything you read in storybooks.”