Magician of Asgard

by Snapegirlkmf

The story of Loki as you've never heard it before! In his own words, this is the truth behind the legendary magician and trickster god of Norse myth! This is an AU retelling of the Norse god Loki and does NOT follow most of the original myths so don't expect things to be the same as in the original stories.

14. Pride & Prejudice

Pride & Prejudice

We reached the town about mid-morning. It was called, aptly, Last Chance, probably because it was the last chance people traveling further west had to stock up onessentials before heading out into the wilderness. It was like most frontier towns of its kind,built haphazardly about a central square containing the essential mercantile, blacksmith, andsaloon. There was a small boardinghouse for people who needed to put up for a night or
two, a saddler and tanner and several clapboard houses. The main street of the town was a
dirt track, rutted from countless wagon wheels and horses hooves. There was a long
boardwalk in front of the stores and businesses, so people didn't need to walk in the muck
of the road, which stank from the dung of horses and other animals and people throwing
chamberpot contents in the ditch that ran alongside of it.

Belle wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. "Does it always smell so terrible?"
she hissed in an undertone, coughing behind her hand.

In addition to the ripe smell of animal dung, there was also the odor of horses, cattle, smoke from the smithy and the familiar tang of beer and whiskey from the saloon.

"Take a few quick breaths. Your nose will grow accustomed to this soon enough,"
I advised, and sucked in a breath.

"How do they stand it here?"

"They're used to it. Cleanliness isn't a requirement out here on the frontier, I'm
afraid."

"In that case, I'm glad we're not staying." Belle sniffed. "I much prefer traveling on
the prairie. It smells worse than a pig sty here."

"But not as bad as Valhalla after one of Thor's banquets," I quipped, and drew a soft
chuckle from her. "Look. Why don't you go into the mercantile over there and see what
they've got in the way of sugar and flour and cornmeal. I'll go over to the livery just down
the way and see about purchasing a sturdy packhorse or a mule."

"All right." Her eyes lit up, as I'd known they would. Mention shopping to a woman
and they're in heaven. She held out her hand and I gave her a handful of coins. I had no fear
of the storekeeper cheating her. No one bargains like an Asgardian lady, and she'd learned
from the best, my former girlfriend, Sigyn.

"I'll meet you in the mercantile when I'm done. I won't be long."

"Don't let those horse traders cheat you, Father."

I snorted. "Girl, the day hasn't come when a horse trader can get the better of me.
I invented the game," I hissed softly in her ear. Then I led Heror and Flicker down the
street towards the livery stable, whose painted sign of a horse was blowing gently in the
wind. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Belle push open the door of the dry goods
mercantile and enter.

I only hoped the storekeeper wouldn't give her a hard time because she was a woman
unescorted and dressed in casual attire. Then I shrugged. If he tried anything, he'd soon
regret it. Belle could cut a man down to size with one scorching glance from her jade eyes.

I clucked gently to the horses and tied them outside the hitching post. "Watch the
saddlebags, all right?" I whispered into Heror's ear.

The big stallion nodded, flicking an ear. "Don't worry, Loki," he nickered softly.
"Any light fingers comes prowling around me looking for easy pickings is going to get my
hoof right between his shifty eyes."

"Right on, Pa!" snorted Flicker. "We'll stomp his skinny ass good."

I glanced warily around, but no one paid any attention to our little exchange.

"Thanks." I muttered, giving them a fond pat on the neck.

Then I went around the back of the livery where the stock pens were. I knew that
was where they kept the horses and mules for sale. The corral was filled with a mixture of
mustangs and Indian ponies and a few long-eared brown mules. Most of the horses appeared
to be in good shape, if a bit dusty and unkempt. I guessed they didn't have enough help to
groom each animal regularly. Still, none of them looked sick, and none of them were
starving, though a few were a bit on the skinny side.

"Help you with something, mister?"

I turned to see a tall man with a drooping mustache and a large Spanish style hat
coming towards me from the back of the barn. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt
studded with silver conchos and a big silver belt as well. A small revolver was holstered on
the side, and I recalled the unwritten code of the West, that few men went unarmed out here.
I didn't have a gun, though I knew how to handle one, because I hated the damn things.
They were deadlier than a sword and I hated the feel of one in my hand, it reeked of death
and destruction worse than the Black Spear, and worse it tended to malfunction near me
because of my magical aura. Guns and magic didn't mix at all and it was in everyone's best
interest if I wasn't carrying one. Less chance of getting blown up that way.

"You can. I'm looking to buy a good packhorse." I said, and hooked my thumbs
casually in my belt.

"Going further out, stranger?" he asked curiously. "Not much out here cept
tumbleweeds, buffalo, and Injuns. Though the army's got orders to relocate them as are still
here come the spring."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

"Cause they's Injuns," he said, as if that explained everything. "Thieving, dirty, no-
good redskins. The sooner they's gone the better, I say. Can't have their sort mingling with
decent folk like."

I said nothing, biting back my instinctive retort that if there were such a thing as
"decent folk" they should welcome their fellow man with open arms. "Uh, well, I'm sure
they won't be where I'm going. Do you know if a circus train passed near here anytime in
the last few days or weeks? Because I'm due to meet it. That's why I need a good
packhorse."

He stared at me in astonishment. "Yeah, there was a small one that just come
through bout a week ago. Had themselves a bunch of fancy wagons and a lion and a white
tiger and some monkeys and a fine looking bunch of trick horses too. Turner something or
other they was called. What you want with that lot for? You don't look like much of a
showman."

"Looks can be deceiving," I laughed, then made a motion with my hand and a dollar
coin appeared between my fingers. This wasn't true magic, but sleight-of-hand, such as any
street performer used. I wouldn't waste my Talent on this country rube, not when I could
use simple parlor tricks. I was a master at this type of work, it was how I'd earned my living
as a child before I'd gained full control over my magic. Every so often I grew tired of living
off of berries and roots and wild game and ventured out into the small villages along the
border, and there I discovered I could use clever tricks with coins, scarves, and balls to
entertain the locals and earn myself a few extra coins and a decent supper.

I threw the coin up into the air, making it seem to vanish. Then I flung out my
opposite hand and lo and behold!—there was the coin. I made it dance along the back of my
fingers, flicked my wrist and made it vanish, only to draw it forth from the man's pocket.

He gaped at me in witless wonder. "Holy God! You're a magician."

I bowed with a flourish. "Right you are, my good man. Loki Sigurdson, Magician
extraordinaire of Scandinavia, at your service."

"Scandinavy? Isn't that a place across the ocean, where it snows all the time or
something?"

I nodded. "It is. I came here with my daughter to start a new life. My poor wife
died, you see, and there were too many memories there. And too many debts too, she was
sick for so long." I put on my most tragic air and continued spinning my false story. "So I
decided to come to America, because I'd heard it was the Land of Opportunity and a man
could make a living at most anything here. Magicians aren't too much in demand in my
country anymore, but I'd heard that the circus folk are always looking for a talented
sorcerer."

So saying I spun the coin on my palm and closed my hand over it. When I opened
it, I held a golden scarf.

"Wow! How'd you do that?"

I grinned. "Magic, of course." I tucked the scarf in my belt. "But that was but a
small sample of my skills. If you'd care to see more, I suggest you look me up when the
circus comes to town."

"I just may do that. I always liked to see the magic acts when I was a kid. But I
never saw anybody as good as you, Sigurdson."

I shrugged modestly. "Thank you for the compliment, sir. Now, about that horse?"

I pointed to a likely looking paint, a white and brown gelding that looked like he'd
once been an Indian's mount. I whistled and he came over to me. I stroked his nose,
whispering softly in his ear. "Hello. I'm Loki, swift one. What's your name?"

"My mother called me Fleetfoot," the paint snuffled into my shoulder.

I ran my hands down the horse's withers and lifted each hoof, checking for
soundness. He had large eyes and nostrils and a deep chest. His hooves were small, a
characteristic of the mustang breed, but I knew he was probably surefooted as any goat and
twice as hardy.

I gently looked inside his mouth, noting that he was still fairly young, not more than
seven or eight. He'd probably been caught as a foal and hand tamed. "Would you like to
come with me, Fleetfoot?"

"I would, as long as you promise not to kick or whip me. Otherwise you can forget
it."

I promised, then I turned to the livery owner, who was frowning at our odd exchange.

"You talk to horses too, Sigurdson?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I said. "He looks like he'll last the journey. Not too scrawny
or too old." I gave the horse a friendly slap on the rump, and the gelding stamped a hoof.
"Got a bit of spirit too. I like that in an animal. How much you offering?"

We dickered for several minutes, but he was no match for me. I could have gotten
the shirt off his back and his firstborn if I'd wanted by the time I was done.

"Dang, magician! You want to bankrupt me?" he growled, but at last he agreed to
my price and Fleetfoot was mine.

As I turned to lead away my new horse, a skinny woman wrapped in a blanket shawl
with a baby strapped to her back shuffled into view. Her long black hair was neatly braided
and her copper colored skin revealed that she was clearly Indian. The papoose strapped to
her back was a bit lighter in skin tone, probably the product of a liaison with a white man.
There were hollows in her cheeks and I suspected she'd not had a decent meal in some time.

She cast a pleading hopeful glance at the livery owner. "Please, Mister Travers, can
you spare a dime for me or my baby?"

The livery owner looked at her the way one might an annoying insect. "Be off with
you, Blackbird! You know your kind ain't welcome round here, not after what your devil
race did to General Custer and the Seventh at the Little Big Horn." He spat in the dirt at the
woman's feet, which were encased in badly frayed moccasins held together by twine. "Now
haul your skinny carcass outta here, you and your half-breed brat!" He made as if to lift a
hand to her, and she shrank back and scuttled out of reach.

"Here now, that wasn't very charitable of you," I said softly, trying to disguise the
anger simmering just below the surface. "Does not the Good Book say we should give to
those less fortunate than ourselves?"

Travers gave me a look of utter disbelief mixed with disdain. "Charity ain't for the
likes of that devil's bride, Sigurdson. Best you learn that now. No Injun hereabouts is good
for anything other than target practice. Bunch of lying, thieving, cowardly bastards the lot
of them. They'd soon as scalp you as look at you, damn savages."

"But that poor woman was starving," I pressed, wishing I could tear into him with
my usual razor tongue.

"That ain't my affair. She used to be the mistress of a trapper here, Big Bill Pearson.
But he disappeared late this past spring and most everybody thinks he's dead. He didn't
leave much behind, cept his whore and her half-breed bastard. Who'd not be in this fix if
she'd stuck to her own savage kind and not gone panting after decent white folks like a dog
in heat." He spat again. "Word of advice, since you're new to these parts. Don't go gittin'
involved with Injuns, it'll only lead to trouble. Mind your business and let others mind
theirs."

I pretended to take his advice and bid him farewell, before I lost my temper
completely and told him just what I thought of bigoted assholes who would let a mother and
her innocent baby starve simply because they were of a different race. I knew things had
heated up since the last time I'd been here, some seventy years ago, but I'd not realized just
how badly things had gotten until now.

My words to Belle the previous evening not withstanding, I simply couldn't stand by
and watch a woman and child starve. I waited until the livery owner had gone back inside
the stable and pretended to walk away down the street. But I slipped round the back of the
establishment, for that was where the woman—Blackbird he'd called her—had gone.

I found her huddled against the side of the building, shivering violently in the cold
wind. Her tattered shawl provided little or no protection against the wind's bite. I quickly
reached into my saddlebag for some trail bread, cheese and beef jerky, we had more than
enough to spare. I also grabbed an extra blanket, woven from Olga's soft silky hair, and
warmer than anything they could make here.

"Here, little sister," I spoke softly, in careful Lakota, which I had learned long ago
as a guest of the warrior-hunter Black Moccasin. "It is not right that women and children
go hungry in the midst of plenty." I handed her the food and the blanket.

She stared at me in astonishment. "You speak my language! How did a white-eyes
learn the words of the People?"

"By listening very carefully to my friend," I answered. "With this food, you can feed
your baby, though it isn't much." I knew better than to give her money, for she would not
be able to spend it, as any shopkeeper here would think she'd stolen it and take it from her.

"It is more than enough, brother," she said, and smiled at me. "Blue Star and I will
eat well for a week or more with this. My thanks."

I smiled. Then, on impulse, I drew out one of my feather charms. These were minor
amulets of protection and warmth, which I sometimes sold to those who came to me for such
things. They were made from a single pheasant feather and polished turquoise stones strung
on a leather cord. "Here. Wear this and no harm will come to you and your child,
Blackbird." I slipped the cord over her head before she could protest.

She gasped. "This is powerful medicine! You are a shaman, a great one."

"Not as great as you'd think." I laughed softly. "This will keep you warm in the
bitterest wind and warn you of those who would mean you harm. When you see the stone
glow, that means danger is near and you should leave."

"I . . .this is too much! I don't deserve . . ." she began.
I cut her off with a raised hand. "It is done. May the blessings of the Great Spirit be
with you, little sister. Walk in peace and good health always."

"And you also, Shaman Raven Hair," she said softly, tears gleaming in her eyes.

I took the reins of all three of my horses and left then. My simple gift of food and
the amulet were little enough, but they were all I had time for. If I could have, I would have
helped her more, but time was flying.

I led the horses back to the mercantile where I'd left Belle, tying all of them to the
hitching post outside. The paint looked at me quizzically, and I stroked his velvet muzzle
and transferred the sack of oats I'd brought from Asgard to his pack saddle. He remained
quiet, not objecting to the weight, and as a reward, I reached inside and withdrew a handful
of oats, which I fed to him from the palm of my hand.

He crunched them up blissfully, saying, "I never knew oats that tasted like this in my
life."

"Nor will you, for those oats were not from around here," put in Heror loftily.
"They're Asgardian oats and sweeter than anything you've got down here."

"Asgardian oats? Where's that?" whinnied the paint, swishing his brown and white
tail agitatedly.

"Asgard is the immortal realm beyond the Rainbow Bridge," I explained softly.

Fleetfoot snorted. "How is it that you understand our language, Master? No other
human ever has."

"That's because your new master is no mere human, but an immortal magician,"
Heror told him, with a toss of his head. "Thank your lucky stars, mortal horse, for you're
now the property of Loki, Magician of Asgard."

"Oh. It is an honor to serve, sir," Fleetfoot said humbly. He gazed at me with
something close to awe. "And are you both immortal also?"

"Of course. Not only immortal, but of far better lineage than your own," Heror
declared proudly.

"Quit being such a snob!" I ordered sharply, smacking him lightly on the muzzle."You sound as bad as Grafnir, Thor's stallion."

At that, my black lowered his head, ashamed, looking like a schoolboy being scolded
roundly by his master, as well he might. "Sorry," he mumbled. Grafnir was as haughty and
mean-tempered as his master, and Heror couldn't stand him. To be compared to him for an
instant was a dreadful put down.

"As well you ought to be. Now behave," I said gruffly, giving both black horses a
last pat before going inside to fetch my daughter.

I found Belle waiting impatiently while the storekeeper wrapped up the last of her
purchases, then together his assistant, a brawny youth of seventeen, and I carried them out
to the paint and loaded them. Belle had bought a sack of flour, sugar, salt, beans, syrup,
cornmeal, and a slab of salt pork. She'd also gotten a book of herbal remedies she thought
would be useful to add to our library of medical texts and a tortoiseshell comb carved in the
shape of a wolf for her hair. Trust a girl to go into a store for necessities and come out with
something totally useless for herself. Ah well, it wasn't as if we couldn't afford it.
I asked her if she wanted to stay the night here or continue onward and stop
somewhere along the trail. She opted to go on, apparently she was as fond of towns as I was.
We rested long enough to water the horses and munch on provisions from our saddlebags,
then we were in the saddle and heading west once more.

Once out of the town, I told her of the encounter with the Indian woman and her
baby, and she frowned and said, "What kind of man could leave a woman and a child to
starve like that? It's—it's indecent! Isn't there a law or something against it?"

"Not a law per say, but such behavior is considered ungentlemanly and un-
Christian," I said heatedly. "The God these people worship taught that one should help those
less fortunate, but certain people choose to disregard those teachings when they feel like it.
Jesus would be ashamed of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "You say that as if you knew the man."

"I did. Long and long ago, before the English settlers ever set foot in this land. I'll
tell you the story after dinner tonight, it's not something I can speak of while riding." I said
softly. That tale was too painful for casual conversation, and it deserved an audience whose
undivided attention was focused on the teller. Even after all this time, my heart still ached
when I thought of that day, and recalled that conversation, and it had been thousands of years
past in Midgard time.

Belle sensed this and switched topics. "I got some odd looks from the proprietor of
the mercantile when I first entered the store. He seemed to think it was improper for me to
be there alone—without a male escort, he said—as if a woman needed a man to lean on.
And he frowned at my trousers and shirt and I heard him mutter something to his apprentice
about decent women wearing skirts. What does that have to do with anything?"

I sighed, for I had forgotten the ridiculous dress codes mortals here had. They were
as bad as Vanir in that regard. "Out here, women are regarded as weaker than men, and
therefore in need of a man's protection. Most white women your age never go anywhere
without a companion, usually an older woman or a man who is related to her, like a father
or a brother. I hope you told him I was here."

"I did. I also told him I was far past the age when I needed to hold your hand," Bella
said tartly.

"Did you now?" I began to laugh. "That must have gone over real well."

"He got quite red in the face and apologized," she said smugly. I wasn't surprised.
Belle's tongue could flay the hide off an unwary man when she chose, much like her mentor
Ran. "And what was all that about wearing a dress? Isn't this what women wear down
here?"

"Yes, out here on the trail, the more sensible women wear denims. But it's
considered improper for a lady of good family to wear trousers while in town. Some of them
even wear skirts when they ride."

"How?"

"They wear them slit up the side and don't ride astride, but on a ridiculous invention
called a sidesaddle." I explained what one looked like.

Belle gazed at me in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"On my honor, I'm not."

"But—but that's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard of. You need two legs to ride
a horse properly, your balance is off else. And in a skirt no less! That's just asking for
trouble. Don't these women realize that?"

"Some do, to be sure. But the ones who are concerned with fashion and proper
behavior, they'll risk their necks and not think twice about it, the empty-headed
featherbrains."

"I wonder how many women have fallen off and died in the name of such stupid
conventions?" my daughter asked.

"Probably more than they'll ever admit to, though riding is considered the sport of
a lady."

"Well, you'll never catch me using anything like that, no matter what men like that
storekeeper think." Belle declared.

"Don't worry about it. We're not here to mingle with what passes for society out
here. The circus folk are more practical, they won't care if you ride astride or not. If they're
anything like the Romani I used to know, they've got their share of trick riders who can ride
standing up, women as well as men."

"Good, because I found that man's attitude towards women annoying as hell. I
probably have more education than he ever dreamed, yet when I started to bargain with him,
he tried to act like I didn't know what I was talking about. Said such things were men's
affairs and I shouldn't bother my pretty little head about it. Does he think I'm stupid or
something?"

"No, but again, girls like you don't walk into stores like that and haggle like a horse
trader, Belle darling. They get servants to do that for them."

"Ha! No wonder he looked ready to cry when we finished bargaining. Those ladies
he knew must have been bored to tears, sitting around watching others do everything for
them. I'm beginning to understand what mortals mean when they talk of a lady of leisure.
And the Norns help me if I ever act like one, they sound like pampered sheep dressed up for
the spring fair."

"And they probably have as many brains as one," I laughed. Heaven help the man
who tried to make my independent feisty daughter into a trophy wife. She'd eat him alive
for breakfast. Maybe that was why Leif had run, because he'd realized that Belle would
never fit the model of a subservient Vanir lady, content to stay home and manage a
household. But then, what did he expect, with her being the daughter of the Magician of
Asgard? I threw all convention to the winds as I chose so it would only follow that my
daughter did so as well. I'd raised her to think, not follow blindly along with what everyone
else did.

Such an attitude would shock the boots off many of the men here, who'd been
brought up to regard females as the fairer and weaker sex. Thor's Beard, were they ever
mistaken about that one! All the women I'd ever known were about as weak as the Midgard
Serpent, despite their looks. Even Freya, who enjoyed on occasion playing the helpless
maiden, could reduce a man to jelly with a single glance from her cerulean eyes, and she was
a sharp as a brass tack for all of her beautiful looks.

It had always puzzled me as to why a mortal man insisted on making his woman into
an ornament rather than a partner who could help him. Then again, no one ever said mortals
had the sense the Norns gave a goose. But I was being unfair, for not all men wanted women
like that. The Lakota women of my acquaintance regarded white women as helpless ninnies,
chickens without a head, was the way Black Moccasin's wife Feather Dancer had described
them. Among the Lakota, and most Indian tribes, women worked just as hard as the men
and were given equal status in some societies. Which was why the whites regarded them as
savages, no doubt.

That prejudice had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface, but now
it was bubbling over, like a pot left too long on the stove. I prayed we could find Gungnir
and get back home before it erupted into full-scale war, though from what Travers had said,
war had already begun. The best I could hope for was to remove the Black Spear before its
influence caused more bloodshed.

Damn you, Leif Malasteinsson! Bringing Gungnir here might have just caused the
biggest bloodbath this country has ever seen. There's no telling what trouble the Spear of
War will cause unchecked like this. It's always been unpredictable, which was why Odin
used it sparingly after awhile, and never down here, where mortals are so susceptible to its
influence of hatred and death. I shook my head angrily. My former apprentice had a hell
of a lot to answer for, and I was going to make damn sure he knew what his reckless
decision had cost. By the time I was done with him, he was going to wish he was Thor's
bondservant again and all he had to fear was a beating.

I spent the rest of the ride going over our false identities and showing Belle some of
my routine illusions that we'd be performing as our introduction to get hired by the circus
manager. As I'd said before, most of our tricks would be sleight-of-hand and such, using
flash powder and other aids the way stage magicians had been doing for centuries. Real
spells would be used sparingly, for magic was not welcomed here as a general rule and I had
no wish to be hunted down like a beast for practicing witchcraft.

Still, if push came to shove, I'd use my powers and instructed Belle to do the same.

We made camp alongside another fast-flowing stream in a small grove of poplars.
After a savory meal of cornbread, baked beans (which I made according to a recipe I'd
gotten from an old cowhand, using magic to speed the process), fried salt pork, and coffee
with lots of sugar, I settled down and told Bella about my meeting with Jesus of Nazareth,
who was now known as Jesus Christ, as I had promised.

It was a tale I had told no one, until now.