Trickster Moon

A Story of Loki and Thor

Note: This story is dedicated to the worldbuilders on Tumblr; it was inspired by a snippet of conversation there, which involved the actual mechanics of the bifrost, and the name of the little town in New Mexico where Jane Foster was doing her research: Puente Antiguo, which means, of course, "ancient bridge".

Thor, son of Odin, firstborn prince of Asgard, surveyed the battlefield before him. All his grand strategies had come to naught; his carefully-executed plans of attack shattered and scattered to the world's rim. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he lifted his gaze to contemplate his opponent. Her eyes gleamed with the fire of victory, but her face remained properly solemn.

"My sympathies," she said.

Thor nodded, lowering his eyes once more to the gameboard. He leaned forward, and cupped one hand under his chin. "I don't know why I continue to play this game with you, Sif."

"Because your hope in a different outcome blooms ever green," she answered.

A shadow darkened the table. Thor looked up, and then grimaced.

"Come to view the carnage, brother?" he asked glumly.

Loki Odinson, second-born prince of Asgard, studied the board for a moment, and then raised a brow. "Grim," he said.

Thor blew out a breath.

"But not hopeless," Loki continued.

Sif straightened, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Foul, Loki. I'm battling Thor, here, not you. No hints."

Loki's eyes glinted at her, and he grinned. "Fair enough. No hints, then. Merely. . .wise counsel."

Thor tapped his fist against his chin. "No counsel will save this travesty of a game. It looks completely hopeless from where I sit."

"That is because you have no confidence in your stratagems. You do not press your advantage."

"What advantage?" Thor waved his hand over the board.

"Not there," Loki said, gesturing negligently at the playing pieces. "Your advantage here." And he lifted one long finger and tapped it in the exact center of his brother's brow.

Thor batted his hand away with a grunt. Sif stirred indignantly. "Are you implying that Thor has a greater intellect than I?"

Loki smiled. "Never. That would be . . . ungallant."

Sif tipped her head back, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling far above. "And untrue."

"The advantage, Thor, is not in intellect. It is in knowledge." He walked around to Thor's other side, leaned over his brother's shoulder, nodding thoughtfully at Sif, and said, "You know Sif. You've fought beside her for years, and you've played this game with her how many times?"

Thor shrugged.

"You know her mind," Loki continued, grinning at Sif. She leveled a frosty glare at him, and then deliberately crossed her eyes. He laughed outright, and continued, "She will always attack aggressively, with a bloodthirsty abandon that would do a berserker proud. It is her greatest strength, and also her greatest weakness. All you must do is exploit it." He flicked a finger at the board. "Because, if you will just stop and think about it, you will always know what she will do next."

Sif said coldly, "I am not that predictable."

Loki straightened, and held up both hands. "Prove me wrong, then. As it stands now, Thor, you could turn the tide of battle and win this game in. . ." He leaned back over the board, his eyes intent. ". . .eight moves."

"What?" Thor exclaimed, sitting abruptly forward. "No."

Sif was glaring at Loki in earnest now. "You're lying."

Loki's face hardened. "I speak only what I see."

Thor laughed, ignoring the sudden tension between his friend and his brother. "Show me."

"Thor!" Sif protested.

Loki shook his head. "I don't wish to interfere."

Sif said, "Yes, you do. You already have. You always do whatever you wish."

Thor grinned and bowed to Sif, exaggerating it to coax an answering smile from her. "I concede, fair enough? You've bested me, once again. But I want Loki to show me how I could have won."

Sif stood. "Your time is your own. Spend it how you like." She turned to walk away.

Thor called after her, "We'll play again, on the morrow?" She inclined her head, briefly, in response.

Loki watched her go, frowning. "I angered her."

Thor waved a dismissive hand. "Not really, I don't think. Come, brother, take her seat and show me what advantage I could have pressed."

Loki did as he was bid, but instead of contemplating the board, he sat, regarding Thor's face until his brother said, impatiently, "What?"

"If I aid you in your gameplay, will you also come to my assistance in a certain matter?"

Thor's brows lowered at the serious note in his voice. "What matter?"

Loki tilted his chin upward, eyes hooded. "That remains to be seen. It's not an honorable bargain, is it, if you must weigh it before you agree to it?"

"That depends on the nature of the bargainer."

Loki looked away. "You know my nature, Thor. Bargain or no?"

"Bargain, then." Thor sat back, and clapped his hands together.

"Good. Then, tomorrow, before you play this game once again with Sif, you will play it with me, and I will counsel you in all your tactics. Agreed?"

"All right. And what is my part of this bargain?"

Loki leaned back, stretching out his legs and crossing his booted ankles, and considering his brother. Finally, he said, slowly, "I find that I have need of Mjolnir."

"Mjolnir? Now wait just a moment, Loki. . ."

"And that means that I also have need of you."

Sunlight pounded the dry valley, relentlessly, a mortar upon an enormous pestle, and the shimmering heat coaxed a faint, honey-dipped odor from the mesquite and pinon trees. Taklishim walked softly, one foot before the other, his eyes fixed on Grandfather's strong back. Behind him, he could hear the faint thud of Pelipa's footsteps; he turned without pausing and gestured sharply for her to take more care. But her small head was bent, and he saw that she was staring at the prints his bare feet had left in the silky dust, trying to stretch her own short strides to match his. His face softened. She was, after all, just a little one, his sister. He could almost hear his mother's voice, admonishing, "You must be more patient, Taki. She is young."

Ahead, the patchy shadows cast by the mesquites' tangled branches disappeared, and the valley's great, open basin caught and held the sun's heavy light, like a mound of corn in a smooth clay pot. They'd reached the edge of the mesa, and Grandfather halted, straight and silent, looking up into the bright sky.

Taklishim came to stand beside him, watching with amusement as Pelipa ran to the very brink of the tall cliff that made up this side of the mesa. She would climb the steepest rainbow and curl her toes around its edge if she could, his sister. No fear could ever hook its claws into her heart.

Grandfather grunted, softly, deep in his chest, and pointed upward. Following the line of his finger, Taklishim saw, high in the sky, the faint, transparent outline of the moon, showing his face in the brightest day when he should be fast asleep. Taklishim grinned, and Grandfather smiled down at him and murmured, "A trickster moon. Shining in the day."

Pelipa spun about at Grandfather's words, her eyes sparkling. "Trickster!"

Taklishim shook his head, and Pelipa bit her lip and turned her face back toward the sun. A little gasp escaped her, and she said, tentatively, "Taki. . ."

In the sky, around the outline of the sly moon, the light was dancing and wavering, and the edges of all the sunbeams were shifting and rainbow-painted.

Grandfather frowned.

"What strange light," he said. "I have never seen the sky look like that, not when the air is so dry. . ." His voice faded away, and his eyes grew shadowed and sad. He looked down into the valley, where they should have been able to see the green fields of corn; there was only dry, dusty brown, and no glimmer of water anywhere.

"No sign of rain, my children." Grandfather sighed, and turned away. "The storm clouds have not found their way back to us, and we've climbed all this way to no purpose. Let's return to the village."

Taklishim hesitated, his eyes drawn inexorably to the pale, shifting rainbow lights. Slowly he said, "I think I will stay here, for a time."

"As you wish. Pelipa?"

Pelipa was hopping from one foot to the other, her eyes sun-bright with some childish glee. "I will stay with Taki, if I may, please, Grandfather."

The old man studied her face affectionately, and then said, to the boy, "Keep good watch over your sister, then."

"Yes, Grandfather."

The old man walked away, but, before the path meandered back among the mesquite trees, he hesitated, looking toward the children once more. They were both crouched on their heels, staring unblinkingly up into the sky, up at the trickster moon.

As he slipped into the trees' thin shade, Grandfather wondered what, exactly, they were watching for.

Heimdall, Gatekeeper, seer of worlds, stood immovable at his post without the Observatory, and watched the two princes come, their horses running headlong, necks stretched, hooves striking sparks from the bifrost's radiant surface. The thundering echo of their passage reverberated off the walls, and a pair of merchants, haggling gently at the city gate over the price of a cart loaded with oaken mead barrels, were forced to dive to the side with undignified haste.

Even before the horses slid to a stop a few lengths away, Heimdall could hear Prince Thor's laughter, and the jesting edge in his voice as he called out, "My win, in this game at least! You are too charitable with me, brother; always you allow me the victory!"

Heimdall's golden eyes shifted to observe the younger prince's face. He saw the momentary tightness of the jaw, though Loki smiled easily, and answered, "I only seek to continually bolster your confidence. It is my gift to you." His smile vanished and his voice lowered. "Never let it be said that Loki thinks only of himself."

Thor had swung out of the saddle with the muscular grace that characterized his every move. When Loki joined him, he clapped his brother's shoulder and said, "As if any would say such a thing."

He strode forward then, toward Heimdall. Only the Gatekeeper heard Loki's muttered response, "Sif would. Even today. And others."

But as the two princes came to stand before him, Loki's face had smoothed into planes of genial cheerfulness. He said evenly, "Good Heimdall, my brother and I require passage to Midgard. To the wide valley."

Heimdall's face did not change, but inwardly, he frowned. "None from Asgard have traveled to that place in many of Midgard's years. Why do you wish it now, Princes?"

Thor laughed. "An excellent question for which I have no . . ."

"It is the desire of our father," Loki interrupted evenly, bending his neck in a gesture of respect.

"Is it?" asked Heimdall.

"Is it?" Thor turned to look full in Loki's face.

Loki's lips thinned, and then eased again. "Yes, Thor, it is." He bent toward Heimdall, spreading his hands, and said, "The Allfather wishes us to broaden our experience of the Realms, as much as it is possible to do so with discretion."

"Discretion, indeed, Prince," Heimdall murmured. "The wide valley is a desolate place."

"Exactly!" Loki said. "No danger there for us, just . . . an experience. Of a place we've never been." There might have been the smallest emphasis on the word 'never', but Heimdall could not be certain. He peered at the younger prince's face, and found only a haughty openness in the eyes.

"This is the Allfather's wish, Heimdall," Loki repeated, and now there was a faint note of warning in his voice.

"As you say," Heimdall responded. "Come, then, Princes. I will open the bridge for you."

When the bifrost retreated, Thor found himself standing in a small depression, the smoldering remnant of the bifrost's impact embossed in the dust under his feet. In every direction, gritty, golden-brown earth stretched out, broken here and there by crouching, arched brambles and scattered reddish rocks. In the distance, on every side, perpendicular walls of rock rose up to giant flat-topped hills, but the floor of the valley where he stood was even and featureless, as if the malleable earth had been flattened by the enormous hand of Ymir himself.

A movement to his side drew his gaze; Loki's face was lifted to the sun, and a tiny smile of unadulterated pleasure curled one corner of his mouth. Without meeting Thor's eyes, he said, "Feel the heat, brother. It's like an anvil, hammering out the dross. I have always liked it very much. I like the challenge of it. So many of Father's warriors remember Midgard only as cold and snowbound."

Thor frowned. "You've always liked . . . how can you speak so, Loki? You've never been here. Heimdall said as much."

Loki shrugged and glanced sidelong at him, a wicked glint lighting his eye.

"You have been here!" Thor glared at him.

"I've been many places."

The glare faded into genuine puzzlement. "But . . ."

His words were interrupted by a faint cry, carried to the ears on the hot breeze that stirred the dust in sinuous waves across the valley's flat floor. Loki lowered his face, pivoting toward the nearest cliff. The air shimmered around him, golden and glittering with green-edged power; when the haze evaporated, Loki was changed: black hair longer, brushing past his shoulders; skin brown and sun-glazed; chest bare; legs encased in soft, fawn-colored breeches. Thor felt his mouth falling open.

Without looking his way, Loki flicked two fingers in Thor's direction. His eyes blurred, gold and green; as his vision cleared, he knew before he looked down that his own arms were now also bare and brown.

From a narrow draw choked with slender trees, two figures sprinted out into the brilliant light: children, Thor realized after a startled moment, a tall boy and a younger girl. His bewilderment only increased as they came close closer, and he could see their faces, glowing with delight. The little girl raced ahead of the boy, and bounding gleefully, launched herself at Loki. She skidded to a stop before him, and then danced in a full circle about him, singing out, "Coyote!"

Her gaze fluttered to Thor, and then, after a lightning-quick glance at the boy, past him, as if he did not exist. Neither of them looked at him again; their eyes were fixed on Loki.

Loki arched a brow at her, so exaggeratedly that she laughed. "It has been long, long, long since we have seen you!" she cried.

"Since you have seen me, yes, little one, but I have seen you. I was here but a few days past."

What? The mounting amazement flooded Thor's mind like a rising tide.

The girl's mouth formed a perfect "O", and she peered up at her brother, and crowed, "That is what Grandfather meant."

The boy nodded, and she spun, flinging out her arms. "Grandfather knows you, Coyote. He has told us how he has seen you walking."

Loki smiled. "Of course he knows me, Pelipa. I have spoken with him before, as you are well aware."

"No," she laughed. "Not our grandfather. Grandfather!"

Loki raised his questioning glance to her brother, who smiled apologetically. "She means the Grandfather, of our people. The eldest grandfather."

Loki face stilled. "Ah. An elder. A wise man?"

The boy raised his chin proudly. "The wisest."

"And he told you he had seen me."

His thoughtful tone provoked a curious shrug from the boy.

"Yes, Coyote." He tilted his head toward the west, and added, "Grandfather lives further toward the sun. He comes to our village but rarely."

"But he is there now. Things are not well, are they, in the village?"

The boy scuffed a foot in the dust, turning over a pebble with his toes. "No." A muscle moved tightly in one cheek. "They say, the elders, that we must prepare to leave, to seek new land."

Loki said, quietly, "You will not need to do so."

The eyes of both children were on him suddenly, blazing with hope, their faces so filled with worshipful adoration that Thor, watching, felt a dark suspicion suddenly shadow his thoughts.

"You will help us, Coyote?" asked Pelipa. "You will . . . show the rain clouds their way here, once again?"

Loki glanced back at Thor, whose face was full indeed of the promise of thunder. With a flicker of a smile, he said to her, "Something like that, yes."

Loki gestured down the path. "Will you run ahead, children? Tell the village I am coming."

They grinned, their joy at being the bearers of Coyote's greeting palpable. With a flash of limbs, they were gone, racing down the path, the older soon far outpacing the younger. They could hear her shout of protest as they disappeared among a cluster of drooping shrubs.

At that, Thor stopped, feet planted firmly, arms across chest. When Loki turned, frowning, he gestured helplessly toward the vanished children, and then all about at the sun-blasted valley. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, and finally he said, "Those children. . . they aren't . . . yours, are they?"

Loki leaned back on one heel, folded his own arms, and said, coldly, "Out of all the questions that must surely be thronging your mind, that one strikes you as most relevant?"

Thor shrugged, "Well . . ."

"No, Thor, they are not portentous pause mine. For one, I don't believe it's possible for Asgardian seed to root itself in Midgard's soil, if you follow my meaning. And, for two, they have their own proper parentage. When we come into the village, I will present their mother and father to you, and their grandfather, as well, if you like, and you can make your own inquiries as you will." The final words were clipped and cold, and Thor winced.

"It's merely that they seem to know you so well, and they're so fond of you . . . "

Loki's eyes narrowed. "I see. In your mind the only way that I could possibly win the affection of the frail mortals is to beget them."

"No, that was not my meaning! Don't twist my words. It's only that. . ." He stopped, bent his head, studied Loki's dusty feet for a moment, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Finally he muttered, "Just, put that question from your mind."

"Gladly. Do you have another, more reasonable one to offer?"

"You lied to Heimdall!"

Loki pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "Now that, Thor, was not a question. More of an emphatic statement."

"Loki . . . " Thor's voice lowered to a warning growl.

Loki held up both hands. "Yes, I lied to him. I needed to bring you here, and that requires the bifrost, and the bifrost requires Heimdall, and Heimdall requires a bit of . . . judicious handling."

"Handling!" Thor tilted his head back, looking up into the late afternoon sky, squinting against the hammering sunlight.

"Oh, worry not." When Thor's eyes returned to him, filled with doubt, Loki gestured behind him, into the heat waves blurring the valley's far horizon. "Heimdall will see us, never fear."

Almost reluctantly, Thor turned. There, far in the distance, barely visible, two indistinct figures trudged slowly across the flat ground. Thor leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"Don't strain yourself. It is Thor and Loki, having an uneventful Midgardian . . . experience."

Thor whirled back, face reddening, but Loki held up a finger, stopping the furious exclamation in Thor's throat.

"Any further questions, then? About . . . anything else?"

A tense silence.

"What is this ky-yoh-tay?" Thor's voice rumbled with barely-restrained frustration.

"'Coyote'? It is a name. A powerful name. And right at this moment, I am answering to that name and assuming some of that name's . . . attributes."

"You've been here before! How is that possible? And . . . why?"

"Yes, I have. Why? Because I can. Because it amuses me. And as for possibilities. . . .I have ways." He lifted his hands, and fanned out all of his fingers before Thor's face. "Magic, you know."

He turned away, then, and began striding down the beaten, dusty path, following the indistinct footprints of the children. Thor knew he would receive no further answers.

Loki's voice floated back.

"Come, then, Thor! I am already deeply regretting the necessity of including you on this expedition."

Thor grunted, hesitated, and then, with a voiceless grimace, followed his brother, lengthening his strides to a near-run.

His mind was spinning. Loki had been here before. Somehow. Memory after memory unspooled, of times he had searched for Loki throughout the palace and found him nowhere. He had thought, always, that his brother excelled at locating hiding places. He had thought that Loki's need for quiet solitude was deep and profound. Now he wondered, disjointedly, if, in those times, he had not been able to find Loki because Loki had been nowhere to be found. That he had been . . . elsewhere. And that, far from being alone, he'd been actively seeking out others. His heart thudded unevenly. When he'd drawn even with Loki once more, he glanced over at his brother's still face; he envisioned Loki's effortless deceit of the allseeing Gatekeeper, and he felt, for the first time in his life, as if he were looking upon a stranger.

He growled, "Why have you included me then?"

Loki stopped. He tightened his lips impatiently, and then, saying nothing, he slowly turned his head, allowing his glance to sweep the dry plains around them, the wilting acacia trees, the clumps of crumbling sage. The empty fields.

Thor followed his gaze. He sighed, and said, "They need rain."

Loki's eyes flashed, inscrutably, and he turned and resumed his rapid walk.

"So bring your Hammer, Thunderer."

The village, when they reached it, was tucked up into a secondary canyon formed by an enormous crack in a cliff face. Smooth-walled houses were clustered closely together under the overhanging lip of the canyon wall, and a thin strip of fragile greenery ran in front, on either side of a tiny stream, its flow so minute that it was scarcely more than a drip. Thor saw Loki's gaze go to it at once, and his face lower into a frown. But then people appeared from within the houses and along the cliff face, and he stepped forward quickly, with a silent gesture for Thor to linger behind and wait. They gathered around him, dark-haired, straight-backed people, dressed in much the same way that Loki had garbed himself, and their eyes flashed joyful greeting.

After a few, quick, uncertain glances his way, they ignored Thor completely, just as the children had done. He drew himself up, offended at first, but then he realized that, rather than an insult, it was a gesture of respect: a deference paid to his brother. They would not acknowledge him until Loki did, and for some reason, it pleased his brother to keep him waiting.

So he stood there, unmoving, and watched the people welcome Loki. They kept a careful distance, so that he stood in a ring of open ground, but their caution was balanced by an obvious, if somewhat awestruck, affection.

Oh, yes. Loki had undoubtedly been here before. And, whatever he'd done here, these people loved him for it.

A group of children pushed their way to the front of the encircling villagers, their faces shining with shy expectation. Pelipa, in their midst, said, "We saw your moon, Coyote."

Loki shook his head, smiling. "I don't have a moon. Or do I?"

"It was a trickster moon! Taki and I knew that you were coming."

"A trickster moon? Like this?" Loki said, and he raised his hands, fingers curved. At once, a pleased murmur rippled through the crowd around him, and the children wriggled with anticipation.

A green-tinged glow filled the space between Loki's hands, swirling in strange patterns, and then solidifying into a small, glowing, silver-white sphere, pockmarked with dimpled craters and spinning gently. A tiny moon.

He bent toward Pelipa, and gestured her forward with two fingers, and placed the shining sphere in her carefully-cupped hands.

"Now you, rather than I, have a trickster moon," he said. She stared down at it, body rigid with disbelieving delight, while the people around craned their necks to see the tiny object, smiling and pointing. Loki straightened, his eyes sweeping over the faces around him, a satisfied grin slowly stretching his lips.

And then his gaze met another's.

An old man stood watching him, tall, for his people, though still a head shorter than Loki. His face was strangely unlined, framed by iron-gray hair that fell to his shoulders, and dark eyes peered out of it, dark and sharp and cold. Loki tilted his head, measuring those eyes, and then he felt his shoulders squaring, almost unconsciously. The small part of his mind that always kept apart, watching, felt faintly amused, that this mortal should present himself so fearlessly.

The circling people around him parted, to allow the old man to step closer, and a deep silence spread outward as he inclined his head, slowly.

Loki said, "I greet you, Eldest."

The eyes studied him. "I greet you . . . Coyote." There was a mere hint of an upward inflection to the name, the smallest suggestion of an ironic question; Loki alone heard it. He lifted his chin, and said, "The children say that you have seen Coyote walking."

"I have seen Coyote, walking between the shadows." The old man raised both brows. "How strange that only here, in this village, does Coyote walk in the day."

Loki smiled. "Perhaps Coyote holds this village in special esteem."

"Esteem? And what . . . recompense does Coyote require, for this favor?" The chill in the old man's voice radiated outward, and the people about him shifted uncomfortably, their eyes flickering uneasily between the grandfather and the tall figure in their midst. Thor, to the side, took a sudden step forward, urged into motion by a vague sense of threat.

Without turning his head, Loki slanted a sizzling glance at him, and he froze in place, frowning fiercely.

"I require no recompense for my friendship," he snapped. "It is given freely."

Doubt molded itself in every line of the old man's body, though his face remained serene. "For now. But we all know that Coyote is the Trickster." He gestured toward the tiny moon cradled in Pelipa's hands. "He is as changeable as the moon."

"My purposes have not changed."

"And what are your purposes? Why have you come, now, in the time of suffering?"

Loki eyed him, face expressionless, and then he raised his head and his voice, and said, "I purpose to bring the rain, and the wind, and the storm." As a tremor of startled exclamation ran though the people, he lifted one hand and pointed at Thor. "And I walk with Thunder."

Now every eye in the village was on him, and Thor swallowed down the uneasiness clenching at his throat. He looked back at Loki, and tried to imagine Loki doing any of this, in any circumstance, back in Asgard, and failed utterly.

He'd never seen his brother like this. He felt as if the ground were shifting in queasy waves under his feet.

Loki's gaze remained locked with the old man's. He said, his voice a challenge, "Will you walk with the Thunder, as well? Will you come with us to the top of the mesa? And what we will do, we will do."

Sudden silence. Almost as one, the people turned, and looked to the old man.

Grandfather's eyes slid from Loki to Pelipa. Her face was puzzled, crumpled with distress. A tear welled along one eyelid, and dripped slowly down her cheek.

"Grandfather?" she whispered.

He lifted his gaze back to Loki, and said, "I will come with you."

A wolfish grin split Loki's face. "Let us go, then."

He strode forward, and as he passed Thor, he reached out and gripped his brother's arm above the elbow, and pulled him alongside.

"Loki," Thor hissed, glancing back in consternation as the entire village fell into step behind them. 'What in the name of all the NIne are you doing?"

"Just a bit of fun," Loki murmured, though there was no longer any trace of a smile on his face. "Aren't you enjoying this?"

"No! I am not. If Father knew you were wandering about Midgard, performing tricks for unsuspecting mortals, he would . . ."

"But he doesn't know, now, does he?" Loki growled. "And he won't, unless you should betray me and tell him."

Thor glanced at him. "I wouldn't betray you. But what are we doing here?"

"We are bringing the rain, Thor, exactly as I just told them. Or rather, you are bringing it. Mjolnir, remember?"

"But why?" It was almost, but not quite, a wail.

"Because if you don't, they will die. If not here, of starvation, then in exile, from exposure and their enemies. Do you refuse them? Do you want to hear them curse you in their sleep, as they slowly waste away?"

"Of course not!"

"Then wield the Hammer!"

When they reached the top of the mesa, the people gathered in a tight group, their eyes fixed on Thor, now. He felt the pressure of their gaze, and the swirling indignation and deep underlying confusion that was plaguing him subsided. With a glance at Loki, who nodded, eyes intent, he strode forward, to the brink of the cliff, drew in a deep breath, and thrust the Hammer skyward.

The baleful sun, low in the sky now, was suddenly veiled with boiling, inrushing clouds. They rolled across the sky, tumbling and sliding over one another, piling into an enormous, pulsating tower over Thor's head. A thick, branching stalk of lightning erupted from Mjolnir's head, with a crack of thunder that shook the mesa. The air around them darkened, gray with the promise of rain, and the clean-edged odor of the lightning. The hot breeze turned over on itself, suddenly breathing the chill of the storm.

Another flaring fork of lightning, and rolling wave of thunder, and it began to rain.

Loki stood, on the edge of the mesa; on the plain below, silvery sheets of water spread in enormous puddles. The rain fell, softly. Here and there, behind him, people stood with their arms upraised, raindrops mixing with the tears on their faces. The air smelled strongly of damp earth and thirsty green plants.

Someone approached him, and he turned, to find Grandfather's dark eyes upon him.

Loki shrugged. "Who can say what it pleases Coyote to do?"

"Ah, yes, Coyote. Unpredictable as the wind." Grandfather came and stood beside him, gazing outward thoughtfully. He glanced sidelong, a flickering, dark gaze. "I would like to ask him, why such magic as this pleases him."

"Ask me," Loki said.

"You will speak Coyote's words, will you?"

Loki smiled, and looked away.

The old man's eyes crinkled in their corners, though no hint of a smile showed itself. "And yet, for all of your talk today, you have been very careful to avoid truly claiming that name."

Loki laughed. "Damn. You noticed that, did you?"

The old man said nothing, his eyes once again studying the storm as it rolled toward the far side of the plain.

"But when these my people speak Coyote's name," he said, "it is your face they will see."

The smile died away from Loki's eyes. His jaw flexed, and, after a moment, he said, "Others will think of me what they will. I cannot alter their perceptions."

He felt Grandfather's eyes on him, and he held his body very still, and watched the distant lightning. It struck, cloud to cloud, and five slow breaths filled and left his lungs, before the thunder growled its exuberant delight.

Grandfather said, "When you say that, your mind is far away. It is not my people you're thinking of."

Loki looked down, and then flashed him a humorless smile, "Perhaps." He paused, and said, "Tonight your people will sing for Coyote."

"They will. They will build the fire, despite the rain, and dance long into the night." He eyed Loki speculatively and continued, "I will sing, also."

Loki arched a brow at him, at the wry humor in his voice. "Will you?"

"And whose name will I sing, Trickster? On whose head will I chant the blessing? Coyote's?"

A long silence. And then Loki laughed, and looked up, letting the slow, soaking rain fall lightly on his face.

"I think," he said, "that perhaps you will chant 'Loki'."

For the first time, the old man smiled. "Lo-ki." He turned his face upward as well, and he said, "Perhaps I shall. Though none but you will hear me."

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Loki turned to see Thor, with Taklishim and Pelipa trailing in his wake, awestruck eyes fastened on the Hammer.

Pelipa ran forward, and grasped Grandfather's hand.

"Did you see the lightning, Grandfather? Did you hear it?"

"I did, small one," he said, and he looked at Thor, weighing him expressionlessly for a moment, and then, with a glance at Loki, inclining his head. "I thank you, Thunderer."

Thor stirred uncomfortably, and said, "You are welcome, Eldest, but it was my brother's doing, in truth. My brother brought us here."

"Yes. We will dance our gratitude to . . . your brother."

He held out a hand, then, to Loki, and, after a startled moment, Loki grasped his forearm.

"We will return," he said. "Before another moon, and water the ground again. And we will do so every moon, until the harvest."

Grandfather nodded, "When the people feast, and the storehouses are full, they will think of . . . Coyote."

Loki grinned. "And so will you. Grandfather."

"And I. Walk with the Thunder, then, Trickster, and return again with the gentle rain."

They rode in silence, along the bifrost, speaking nothing while Thor could feel Heimdall's eyes boring into his back. When they'd reached the stables, and he had swung out of the saddle, he watched Loki dismount, and hand the reins to a stableman, and finally he burst out, "You said you went there for your amusement. Tell me, brother, how was that amusing for you?"

"It will be amusing to think of any number of persuasive lies, in order to convince Heimdall to return us before their next new moon."

Thor ignored the jest in his voice. He bent his gaze on his brother's face, and his eyes were dark with uncertainty.

Loki turned to him, green eyes glittering, "Fine, then. You ask after my amusement? Perhaps I am amused, brother, by the thought of returning to the village, and watching the villagers come out to greet me from the houses built by their grandfathers' grandfathers. Perhaps it amuses me to contemplate a future which does not include their piling all they own on their backs and leaving their barren fields to search for another home, some impossible place not already occupied by their enemies. Perhaps I enjoy the prospect of watching the children grow rather than see them lie dead and buried in shallow graves along the trail of exile. Perhaps I find their small lives amusing, rather than their meaningless deaths. Perhaps."

Thor spread his hands, his face troubled, "Peace, Loki! I understand you. I'm not questioning your motivations. . . "

Loki crooked a brow at him. "You're not? What are you doing then?"

A clatter of hooves echoed through the stableyard, and a large grey horse trotted through the arched gate, Sif in the saddle. She reined him in a tight circle and dismounted, all in the same motion, tossing the reins to the stableman who came rushing out.

She smiled a greeting, and walked over to them, pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her belt.

"Returned, have you? Where have you been all this day?"

Thor opened his mouth, glanced at Loki's set face, and closed it again.

After a moment, Loki said, an inscrutable glitter in his eye, "Indulging in my amusements."

Thor looked over at him, a faintly wounded stiffness in his shoulders, but, before he could add anything further, Loki nodded, once, a gesture that vaguely included both of them, and said, "Good day, Sif. Thor."

And he strode away.

Thor watched him go, the frown growing on his face. Loki, his brother. Always there, every day, like a moon in orbit. Why had he never realized, until this day, that the moon is the most mysterious and changeable of objects? His eyes followed Loki's retreating back, and he wondered.

Sif peered up at him, and asked, "Amusements?"

Thor shrugged, trying to lighten the melancholy that lay heavy on his shoulders, "Loki was merely . . . demonstrating some of his stratagems, for me."

Sif eyed him doubtfully. "Thor, you shouldn't seek to use Loki's ways. His schemes and plans and strategies only really work for him. For his own advantage."

Thor looked after his brother, and slowly shook his head.

"No, not always," he said.

And in his nostrils there rose still the scent of lightning-charged air, and rain-washed earth, and life returning to the dry fields, new and fresh, and green.

FINIS

The Native Americans pictured in this story are a fictional construction, based loosely upon the Pueblo/Zuni peoples of ancient New Mexico. Any errors in depiction are most emphatically my own.

Thanks so much for reading! Please do leave a comment- -they are, as I'm sure you know, the life-giving rain to fanfic writers.

:) R.