~~Chapter 4~~
Bereft of All Retreat
The oldest part of the Grand Archives was also its most formidable. When Sif had been here the first time, Gudrun had assisted her in sifting through the hundreds of inscrutable tomes, some so ancient that only dust and magic could possibly be holding them together. The languages in which most of the works were written were so old that no one living still remembered what they had actually been called, and even Gudrun could only read portions of the texts. Now Sif was down to examining works that had not even been catalogued, most of which were the only remaining portions of what had once been bound volumes. Again, the languages in which they had been transcribed were far too archaic for her to understand.
The current pile to which Sif was devoting her attention had the odor of earth, the kind of pungent, grubby smell that lingers in the deepest layers of ancient soil. Many of the sections of pages had suffered water damage at one point in their lengthy history, the edges wavy and the ink so smeared as to be unreadable. She was tempted to abandon her search for new information about the prophecy altogether, except that these moments of isolation allowed her some peace from all of the current duties that had been foisted upon her as Asgard's Regent. The next book she handled all but disintegrated in her grip, and she tossed the remains unceremoniously to the side.
What lay underneath the remnants of that book, however, was interesting.
It was still an incomplete volume, but the language was familiar to her: it was Groánic, a tongue spoken by her ancestors from the mountains surrounding Asgard to the west. Although it had not been spoken in millennia, her village had still taught Groánic so that her people might read the inscriptions in the sacred caves of her ancestors, engravings which told their history - and, it was said, revealed their future. To her, they had been just vague but fancy words that told no story at all. But she knew how to read them, and that skill was about to become invaluable.
It was a translation of an even more ancient text, Sif realized, a work that had been lost or destroyed long, long ago. These words told of a prophecy, too, but not one regarding the mountain clans of Asgard. No, this prediction was as clear as the word that appeared again and again in the early pages of the document, but in the old Groánic spelling: 'Ragnœrac.' She scooped up the pages as quickly as she dared due to its fragile condition and laid it out on the only table in this section of the archives that had light. Her heart was pulsing rapidly, and her hands trembled as she turned the brittle leaves of paper, reading the paragraphs as furiously as her rusty skills with this particular tongue would allow. The text was quite similar to the oldest of the Ragnarok myths that she and Gudrun had unearthed, and yet the language was far more accessible. She made a noise of joy that must have travelled two rooms over, for when she next lifted her head, Gudrun was standing at her elbow, her head nestled over one of Sif's shoulders.
"You have found something." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Sif said. "I believe I have."
The two women poured over the contents of the pages wordlessly for long minutes before Sif finally broke the stillness.
"I do not understand this part, here," she said, pointing to a series of sentences that contained a repeating word, one that Sif had not learned in her childhood studies.
Gudrun, Sif had noticed, had also been studying the very section with which she was struggling, only she could see that it was making some sense to her by the peculiar wide-eyed scrutiny that she was giving to it. This knowledge only made Sif want to know the meaning more urgently.
"Right here - this word," the warrior prodded insistently. "It is used many times to refer to the two brothers, but its form is singular. I have never seen it before."
"And I have not seen it for a long, long time," Gudrun sighed. She sat down gracelessly on the bench next to Sif, her gnarled hands resting heavily in her lap. "In a way, it is completely unimaginable, and yet it makes perfect sense."
"Please, tell me what it means." Her words came out like a supplication, her breaths shallow in her urgency.
"It refers to a type of being - or a type of birth. Well, both of these, actually." The ancient woman closed her eyes as if to probe the most remote recesses of her mind for the proper meaning. "The closest concept in the modern lexicon would be a 'duality.'"
"You mean a pairing? Like twins?" Thor and Loki were not even from the same species. It was seeming less likely that the prophecy even referred to them at all.
"Only in the vaguest of senses." Gudrun exhaled as if steeling herself for a draining explanation. "A duality is the rarest of all entities known to our kind. Each soul is born with a measured, finite amount of energy that arises from the lives of others who have gone before. Only once in a thousand, thousand generations, there is born a soul who possesses too much energy to inhabit a living form, so powerful that it would tear its own skin asunder were it to be brought forth with its initial essence intact. The spirit splits into two essences, and each enters the form of a child that is being born at that moment, often leagues or even realms apart."
"The prophecy here names it as 'Dagan-Aptann:' is that its name?"
"Before we are born, we have no true names. The words here are meant to describe it as a being of Darkness and Light. More specifically, Dawn and Dusk - the coming and going of the light , fluid and inconstant. It implies a being in a state of perpetual change."
Sif sighed, her disappointment deflating her almost literally. "So it could not be Thor and Loki, then."
"And why not?" Gudrun challenged her. "Are the Princes of Asgard not constantly evolving? They visit me only once every few centuries, and yet each time that I meet them is as if it were the first."
That point was difficult to refute. Thor was fundamentally not the same arrogant, boorish man he had been centuries ago. And Loki - well, he was as mercurial as the waves on a sea, far from the reserved, scholarly youth that he had been at the beginning. Yet the same could likely be said of any Asgardian over the length of many mortal lifetimes. Plus, there was the little matter of Loki's birth.
"It is more an issue of timing, Lady Gudrun," Sif said. "Thor was born several years before Loki. It would not make sense for him to be the other half of the duality."
"Or so the Allfather would have everyone believe. Yet the facts were exposed with the disclosure of Loki's true lineage. Thor was born during the battle with Jotunheim; Loki was brought back from the temple when Odin returned from the battle with Jotunheim."
"But Loki was first seen after Queen Frigga returned from an extended trip to visit her family in Vanaheim. He was clearly newborn, or so my parents have told me."
Gudrun chuckled, but the act was good-natured rather than condescending. "Your parents did not likely witness that event with their own eyes. It is more probable that they merely repeated what was presented to them as fact."
'Yet I feel him even now - or, rather, the absence of him . . . like a part of me has been detached and that its lack has left a chasm within me.' Thor's words before his departure. Sif turned them over in her mind now with new eyes.
"Besides," Gudrun continued. "A newly born Jotun stays in its infancy longer than an Aesir. It would be a simple task for Frigga to raise the boys in another Realm until Thor was grown enough to seem significantly older and then return with a second, 'newborn' son."
The warrior shook her head in futile denial.
"If you need further proof, your Excellency," Gudrun continued, ignoring the sour response that Sif had given to the use of her official title, "it lies before you. If you read on further, it describes the linked quality of the halves." The librarian brushed the section lightly with her index finger. "'As lucent as one half becomes, so shall the other half descend into darkness by equal degrees.'"
'We are balanced, I suppose you would describe it. It is as though my rise was the cause of his decline . . . What feeds me devours him.'
"Impossible," Sif whispered. And yet so very, very possible. She could hardly deny it with the veracity of it spread out before her in words translated from texts older than her own Realm. "But if they are two halves of one being, then how -"
Sif found her thought interrupted by the entrance of a valkyrie, her fair skin and hair creating a sharp contrast to the dark plating of her armor. She marched over to where the lady Regent was sitting and then waited for Sif to acknowledge her. The responsibilities of the world outside the archives had found her once again.
"What is it, Sigrun?" Sif sighed.
"Your Excellency," the valkyrie answered, her voice placid but authoritative, "the army surrounding Asgard has begun to move."
"I do not suppose there is any chance that they are retreating," said Sif. For all of her outward calmness, her heart had begun to beat fiercely in her chest.
"No, your Excellency, but they are not moving with much haste."
"Forgive me, Lady Gudrun," Sif said as she bowed to the ancient woman, "but I must see to the defense of Asgard."
The archivist nodded solemnly.
***.**.***
From the ramparts surrounding the city's outer walls, Sigrun's words could be easily confirmed: the ring of shadowy figures that encircled the main city had advanced their ranks several hundred yards. Mercifully, as if by some predetermined plan, they had also stopped after this first burst of movement.
As Sif approached the row of valkyries on the parapet, Ròta, Brunnhilde's second-in-command, was gazing out sternly over the surrounding landscape. She did not start when Sif spoke before fully approaching her. "I have been told that the invaders are moving. What is our situation?"
Ròta nodded toward the dark line of figures that had encircled them for days without any signs of hostility. "They have moved inward nearly half a league but appear to have halted again." The valkyrie was clad from head to toe in various layers of white cloth - from leather to fabric to fur - and her stoic demeanor gave the impression that she was a stunningly beautiful statue carved from the finest marble.
"What does it mean?" Sif asked.
"Well, your Excellency, it would appear to mean almost nothing from a strategic standpoint. However, from our perspective, it is a tactical advantage."
"How so?"
"They have advanced to a point where we can finally see what we are up against."
The obvious, unspoken question lingered between the two women for several moments.
"It is indeed an army," Ròta confirmed, her voice unchanging, "although it is unlike any such force that I have ever expected to face."
Such blunt honesty from a valkyrie was unexpected - and likely ominous. Sif waited patiently for her to continue.
"I was uncertain at first, but I have sent scouts to the perimeters who have confirmed my fears. There is an army of the dead surrounding Asgard." This disclosure was made through a voice that bore no apprehension. Whatever battles Ròta had seen in her countless millennia must have been dire indeed.
"It is an army undoubtedly led by the mistress of their realm," Sif said. "Interesting," she added as an afterthought. Loki was telling the truth.
"Although they have advanced into our territory, they are still well outside of the walls of Asgard," the commander continued.
"To what end?" Sif asked. "Why come close enough to be seen and then not take advantage of the element of surprise?" Her thoughts were being flooded with dozens of possible scenarios, each of which would require her to make quick and cruel decisions.
"Despite its appearance, I believe it is still a strategic move, your Excellency," Ròta replied. Her eyes were still locked gravely on the horizon. "Hela loses the advantage of surprise, but she gains a far more effective weapon."
"Which is?" Sif said, although she dreaded the reply.
"Fear," said Ròta grimly.
***.**.***
The second that Loki's form dissolved, Valkyrie experienced a raging dichotomy of fury and despair. Unfortunately, there was only time to adequately address one of these under her current circumstances. She whirled toward the nearest guard, divesting him of his weapon and then wielding it on the other guards in her vicinity. It was one of the favored Sakaaran longspears, and she was able to use its length to wipe out those in her path rather effortlessly. However, they were quickly replaced by ten others, drawn to her position by the uproar that had ensued.
Rather than try to engage that number of adversaries directly, Valkyrie rose into the air, extending her broad, muscular wings and flapping them forcefully. The strength of the resulting wind held her enemies in check for the moment, but a more cohesive defense was going to be needed, and hastily so. She unsheathed the sword at her hip, and, as she did so, she felt the weight of another gaze upon her, albeit from a significant distance. Amidst the havoc in the stands, she was still able to lock eyes with the black-clad warrior across the stadium who was in the process of dragging Thor, chained and helpless, across the arena. As soon as their eyes met, she felt a hot prickle run beneath her skin, travelling inwards from her extremities to her chest, which then ignited a flame of rage deep within her. Loki had let her fret and nearly panic over a situation he had been manipulating all along. May the halls of Valhalla help him when she finally laid her hands upon him!
Valkyrie had no further opportunity to consider her vengeance, for the Grandmaster was now leering up at her with a rapacious grin. "My, my - you are more glorious than I had ever imagined." His robes fluttered in the gusts created by her wing beats, but his demeanor was utterly calm. "If you come down, I will tell you a secret." He extended a hand for her to accept.
"If you wish to reveal something to me, you can do it from there," she replied, changing her grip on her sword as if making to run him through with it.
"Very well," Gast replied. "I shall tell you my secret." Though he retracted the hand he had offered her, the smirk upon his lips lingered. "The show is not yet over."
Okay, that statement was worrisome. She subconsciously dropped a bit of altitude.
"I bet you want to know where your companion is," the Grandmaster continued.
"Yes, so that I may kill the devious little wretch!" Valkyrie felt the anger flaring in her gut again.
"Then our objectives are not at odds. You see, Loki may be able to change his image or shield himself from sight, but there are senses that are far more difficult to fool than vision."
"What are you implying?" she said, her jaw clenched.
"Well, my Lady, I happen to have an infallible method of tracking him down," he purred. "And Loki will never see it coming."
***.**.***
The elevator stopped on the main floor, and the doors opened onto a maze of hallways. Loki frowned as he studied them, one long finger rubbing the base of his chin as he considered their predicament. Following a pause so lengthy that Thor began to tense with anxiety, his brother said, "I don't suppose you know your way out from here?"
"They do not usually lead the prisoners out through the front gate," Thor answered, annoyed. "Is this your first rescue, brother? Because if it fails, there may never be a second."
"Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?" Loki shot back with equal irritation. "I have reached the limits of my capacity for magic and combat - and patience! You are fortunate that I even came for you at all. Do not make me wish that I had done otherwise!"
Although their exchange was fraught with aggravation, the rhythm of it was so familiar and so dearly missed that they both began to smile, and this gradually dissolved into amiable laughter. When it subsided, Thor clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Sincerely, though, this has been the least enjoyable rescue ever."
"If you can remember your way back to your cell, then you may go there instead," Loki replied haughtily.
Thor was about to respond when the floor beneath them rumbled violently, causing each of them to cling to the nearest doorway.
"What in Hel was that?" Thor exclaimed, and he searched Loki's face for what he hoped would be an answer. Unfortunately, Loki only reflected Thor's look of distress. The tremor was then followed by a roar of such magnitude that they had to cover their ears to endure it. This outburst caused them both to move swiftly down the main corridor.
"We need to find Banner and leave immediately," Thor announced as they half-ran, half- walked along the unfamiliar passageway.
This statement made Loki stop cold. "You must be daft! I did not come here to rescue that ridiculous beast!" He reached for Thor's arm and forced his brother to turn back to face him. "I am serious, brother - if we return to retrieve that senseless creature, we will be killed! It would be the purest form of madness!"
"That may be, but you will not sway me otherwise. I came to this wretched planet with one aim, and I have suffered too long not to succeed in it. This is not over yet, at least not for me."
A second round of shaking beneath their feet could not prevent Loki from glaring at Thor, his hand still fiercely gripping his brother's arm. "If you go back for him, then you go alone. I will not return with you."
Thor paused for only a beat before he was striding back toward the elevator.
"This is absurd!" Loki called after him. "You are going to be slaughtered!"
The side of the hall that faced toward the interior of the arena was comprised of large panels of translucent windows, and the commotion from inside the stadium resulted in a series of eerie shadows through the smoky glass. Loki stood forlornly amid the shifting light that filtered in from the outside, his arms hanging at his sides while he considered what to do. His rumination was interrupted by the most unusual sound, like several short bursts of air. Like inhalations, perhaps, but too powerful to belong to any being that he was likely to encounter on this planet. The corridor also began to darken, as if a sudden cloud had passed before the each of the suns - and then that noise again, almost like . . .
Like sniffing. The sniffing of an absolutely enormous creature.
Oh, this was very bad.
Loki slowly pivoted toward the wall of glass, and he could see the silhouette of the huge canine nosing about the seams of the windows. The deep tinting of the panes likely prevented even a keen-eyed beast from seeing clearly into the interior, but this creature would need no visual confirmation of his identity if it had been exposed to anything that he had touched, worn, or slept upon while on Sakaar. Since its snout was honing in on his approximate location behind the glass, Loki quickly determined that this had indeed been the case. Only the Grandmaster could have set this particular monster on his trail, and he cursed himself that he had not prepared for it.
Just as Loki turned and sprinted back toward the path that Thor had taken, a great, shattering explosion occurred where he had been standing. Shards of glass sprayed across the corridor, and the burst was powerful enough that he could feel them pinging off the back of his garments. The disturbance was then followed by the overwhelming sound of snarling and a powerful shuddering of the structure around him as the beast attempted to force its huge muzzle into the corridor to snap at him. What the whole scene actually looked like, Loki could not determine because he was running full-speed in the opposite direction and resolutely not glancing back over his shoulder. He could feel the hot, fetid breath of the creature enter the corridor, but he knew that the opening was much too narrow for his pursuer to wedge in far enough to grasp him.
The haste of Loki's evacuation meant that he quickly encountered his brother, who had heard the ruckus and was nobly heading back to confront whatever might have caused it. Loki hooked his arm under Thor's as he passed and began hauling him back towards the elevator.
"What was that?" Thor asked, breathless.
Loki said nothing as he continued to move them both along.
"Are you injured? Are we being pursued?"
Still, he said nothing.
"Loki!" Thor demanded, wrenching his arm from the other man's grip just as they entered the car. "Tell me what is going on here!"
Loki pressed the button that would lower them back to the level of the arena, and Thor could see the flecks of glass peppering the back of his brother's clothes. The effect was like staring into a deep corner of space, the tiny reflections of light on the black fabric giving the impression of a million unreachable stars. 'Abyss', Thor pondered with a huff. Right now the name actually suited him.
"I fear for once that you are correct," Loki finally responded, his face pale but his look still quite determined. "This is not over yet."