STAVE THREE
"Oh, but you are alone.
Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness,
in the bitter watches of the night,
when all your life seems to shrink,
the walls of your bower closing in about you?"
-Grima Wormtongue, The Two Towers
Jane squeezed the jagged rock in her left hand—squeezed it harder than she had a thousand times before. Gritted her teeth, swallowed another scream, and forced in a jolting breath of dusty air.
"Come…on, Jane. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe," she croaked. Tears cut trails in the dirt across her face. She lay in complete blackness, halfway on her right side, her left arm stretched out, part of her back and legs pinned beneath half a ton of concrete. A whole shelf of stone covered her, hanging over her just feet above her head, just waiting to give way and crush her. She could dully feel something cold and hard jabbing into her lower back…
But she couldn't sense her legs at all.
"Come on, Jane," she gritted to herself again, squeezing her eyes shut, her right cheek pressed against something that felt like brick. "Come on, Jane. Breathe…"
She had just eaten breakfast in her new Baker Street flat, finished her tea, brushed her teeth and gone into her room—she'd changed out of her pajamas and into some jeans, boots and a light, grey knitted sweater…
When the floor had shivered…
Split in half—
And fallen out from underneath her.
The entire building had collapsed—a roaring, bending, crashing, cracking chaos all around her—she'd screamed as she'd battered helplessly down through layers of sheetrock, brick and wood. She'd slammed into a stone floor and then…
The roof had come down on her like the hand of a giant.
"Come on…He'll…He'll be here soon…" Jane whispered, grinding the rock into the floor. That rock: the only thing she could reach, no matter how far and hard she stretched. Dust caught in her throat—she couldn't pull any more breath. Every muscle broke out in violent shivering.
"Gaaaa-aah!" she cried, a broken sob tearing through her. "Help me!" she wept into the darkness, tears streaming down her face. "Please! Please, somebody…somebody help me…!"
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Thor crashed onto his hands and knees again, blood dripping from his mouth onto the cream-colored, polished marble floors of one of his father's minor audience chambers. Hela's black presence loomed over him, her stench choking him. He glanced up to see his father's boots cross the circular room, passing white pillars, to stop near the golden throne. But he didn't sit down. Thor lifted his head just enough to see his father's weathered face.
Odin gazed at Hela, Gungnir held casually in his right hand. His armor gleamed in the torchlight—for outside, it was now as dark as night.
"Tell me, Hela," Odin began. "What is it that you want?"
"You know very well what I want," Hela replied. "I want what is rightfully mine, and now I have it. You need only order the people to swear fealty to me, and they shall be spared. But of course…" her voice lowered like a serpent. "I will then slay you upon the ramparts to seal my rule."
"Why not simply murder me where I stand and tell the people you have defeated me?" Odin countered.
"It must be legitimate!" Hela suddenly roared, shaking the stones. "I desire the crown and rightly—All must be done with the full power of the deep laws of the realm! I shall have no cunning nor trickery, nor the slightest deceit, do you understand me?"
Odin watched her…
Then slowly raised his eyebrows.
"Well," he said—his voice suddenly lighter, and smoother. "Then I'm afraid you've come at a bad time."
Thor instantly frowned. Odin's appearance shimmered, like sunlight upon water…
And all at once, the king dissolved…
And in his place stood a handsome, lean, clean-shaven young man with pale skin, jet-raven hair and vivid emerald eyes, wearing the clothing of a riding archer, emblazoned subtly with the runes and spells of a magician and master healer. He smirked at Hela. But then, for just an instant—
His gaze met Thor's.
"Loki!" Thor gasped, clawing his way to his knees, his heart bashing against his breastbone.
Loki instantly turned from him, regarding Hela again.
"Loki?" Hela spat. "The Jotun changeling whelp Odin picked up off the floor of Laufey's temple?" She took a step toward Loki. "Why are you wearing Odin's guise?"
"I regret to inform you that Odin isn't here at the moment," Loki replied lightly. "In fact, nobody seems to know where he is. So I'm filling in for a bit, in his stead."
Hela let out a poisonous hiss through her teeth. Thor's pulse jolted—he fought to make his trembling muscles carry him to his feet—
Loki suddenly slapped Gungnir into his left hand—and the brilliant staff let out a menacing growl, its sharp tip flashing like starlight.
Hela stopped.
"Have a care, witch," Loki warned. "I'm not altogether as ignorant as you might think."
Hela's fingers fluttered thoughtfully. Thor stayed on his knees, closing his hands to fists, watching without breathing.
"You and I could make a terrible mess of things, and each other," Loki continued, his voice as smooth as polished stone. "But for the sake of the lives of the people of Asgard…" He lifted his chin. "I have a proposition for you."
"What proposition?" Hela bit out. "That I stake your head on a gibbet at the front of your forum?"
"That wouldn't exactly help the legitimacy of your cause, now would it?" Loki lifted his eyebrows. "However, there is a secondary law you might exploit if you were willing to take the time."
Hela said nothing. Thor ground his teeth, and made himself stay still.
"And what is that?" Hela asked, tilting her head.
"In the absence or incapacitation of the seated king," Loki began. "The acting king and the challenger for the throne may each fight for himself, or choose a champion to compete in single combat to the death in a public arena."
"The deep laws would only partly be satisfied," Hela countered, her eyes narrow.
"Yes, if my champion were merely a citizen of Asgard," Loki admitted. "But not if he were heir to the throne."
Thor's eyes went wide. Loki glanced at him, just for an instant.
Thor's mouth opened—
"Heir against heir," Hela breathed. "My son against your prince."
Loki's eyes narrowed this time.
"Your son?"
"My son Fenris," Hela replied—and Thor could feel her smile. "Before the sight of all my people, and the people of Asgard." Slowly, she nodded her head. "Yes. A true defeat. One of honor—and to end the male line of Borr."
Loki smirked again.
"It's all one to me, frankly," he said. "I'll serve king or queen with equal enthusiasm—I simply have no fondness for the idea of my head on a gibbet."
Hela snorted. Loki relaxed his grip on Gungnir.
"You are welcome to the royal chambers and feasting halls. I'll have my men put the prince in the dungeons," Loki offered.
"No need," Hela said, snatching the back of Thor's hair in a vise grip. "I know the way."
And before Thor could let out even a howl of protest, Hela had dragged him away from Loki and out of the chamber.
To be continued…