THE SERPENT'S TOOTH, Part 2

Centuries ago, Odin forbade his subjects to interfere in the affairs of Midgard. Yet there Loki stood, within shouting distance of my wives, my children, and the people of my holding.

"You say you want to talk?" I growled. "About what?"

"I need your help," Loki responded calmly.

That was when I laughed in a god's face and took a dangerous step in his direction. Just a few years ago, I slew one creature of ancient myth and legend. And while there is certainly a difference between a Prince of Asgard and the King of Svartaflheim, I was willing to test the limits of what was possible. According to legend, Loki was fated to die during Ragnarok, but sometimes legends are just words.

Loki simply held his hands away from his body, waiting for the lethal blow. His eyes didn't waver from mine. Much has been said about the Prince of Lies, but if any have called him a coward, then they were wrong.

"It's about Ingrid - and her child," Loki continued. "I am concerned."

I paused.

A long moment passed. Then, with a long sigh, I retracted my claws and lowered my hands.

"They are dead," I said gruffly. It was not the kind of news I enjoyed giving. Even to Loki.

"No, they are not," Loki disagreed.

I shook my head. "I was there when they died."

Loki paused. "Tell me," he said quietly.

I will never forget the days after the end of the final war against the Dark Elves.

Malekith was cut into seven pieces: head, chest, abdomen, arms, and legs. The pieces were then burned in separate fires fueled by ancient oak. The ashes were laced with silver dust and were eventually carried to secret places on the far edges of the world and scattered.

Most of the Dark Elf warriors were dead, but a few had managed to flee back home. That was fine - we needed some to live to tell the tale of Svartalfheim's second great disaster on Midgard.

On the other claw, we spared as many of the Dark Elves' slave-soldiers as possible. The former slaves gratefully swore their allegiance to new lords. Frankly, I was surprised at how well they took to their new home. What must Svartaflheim be like if those born and raised there were so eagerly grateful to be free of it?

The rites to honor the deaths of our fallen were properly conducted. That included those for Ancient Strange - finally passed from this world to whatever waits beyond for one such as he.

Yes, I brought Stephen Strange to the end of his many days. He lost his life defending us against the dark magics of Malekith himself. His courage and skill was vital to our victory.

I hope his shade can find some forgiveness for me.

It was no secret that I was no longer a seeker. After all, most Blood can sense that. Ronin - some of them so terribly young - were approaching me, offering to enter in my service. I told them that I had no lands to offer. I suggested they should instead offer their fealty to Shea.

But to some, that didn't seem to matter.

"We'll find new lands," Benjamin the Spider said as he knelt before me. Actually, that was something to consider. After all, I had a family to support.

I reached down and helped Benjamin to his feet. That made him my vassal and my samurai - the first I'd had in so very long. And that made me a landless master. I would have to do something about that.

But in the midst of the aftermath, the unwelcome question of Ingrid and her unborn child loomed before us.

Rahne and I waited at the crossroads, not far from the shrines that flanked the road leading to the fort. Ingrid knelt between us, in the precise center of the crossroads. Her head was covered with a dark hood and her hands were bound behind her.

Paradoxically, it was a bright and clear day. Too beautiful for what the day would hold.

Four figures exited the front gate of the fort. They were Emma, Olivia, Cyrus the mage, and Victoria - the fort's Priestess of the Lady of Blades. They had the air about them of those burdened with a grim duty. I knew how they felt.

Emma was in the full robes of a Priestess of the Lady of Fire. However, there was a small exception to the norm in her garb. Around Emma's neck was a pendant of some red gemstone, carved into the uneven crescent shape. If you knew what to look for, you could see it was actually a surrealistic representation of a bird. That was the only time I ever saw Emma wearing the seemingly innocous badge of the Graymalkin - the secret order within the Temple of Fire that concerns itself with the Phoenix prophecy. Perhaps I should have wondered why she was wearing that particular token.

Olivia was back in the formal splint armor of a Storm-Priestess, although she was without a helm. She was carrying her hammer-headed polearm. Olivia was a tall woman, but her bright white mohawk seem to make her loom much taller than her companions.

Victoria, the fort's Priestess of Blades, was dressed in black chainmail covered by a gray tabard. Her coal-black hair was bound into an efficient pony-tail. The drawn katana she was carrying was the holy blade of her shrine, sworn to all three Avatars of the Lady of Blades. The morning sunlight gleamed along the length of its watered steel.

Cyrus seemed unarmed, but a mage is never really defenseless. The cloak of House Strange fluttered around his shoulders and his face was filled with regret. He carried a thick black book in the crook of one arm.

The common people don't know about the law of abomination - except as a thing of frightened whispers. Yet somehow, everyone around us sensed that something terrible was happening. An unnatural silence fell as all conversation died. Mothers gathered up children and hurried away. The nearby Blood, Wilder, and Folk warriors began withdrawing. The samurai who were standing watch on the fort walls couldn't leave their posts, but they made gestures intended to ward off evil and turned their eyes away.

The Temple's bell began to toll in a slow and steady beat. The sound was supposed to drive away evil spirits. After a moment, the fort's blacksmith joined in, ringing a hammer on his anvil. Throughout the fort and the surrounding encampment, other gongs and bells began to sound. Pots and pans were brought out and banged together. Folk and Wilder warriors clashed weapons and shields. Children - not knowing why, but eager to play along - pounded sticks against walls.

The din wasn't loud, but it was steady and pervasive.

In the dust of the road, the six of us - a former seeker, a newly-born seeker, a mage, and three priestesses of the temple goddesses - gathered together in a rough circle and gazed down at Ingrid.

She looked very small. And under her hood, she was crying.

"You saw Ingrid die with your own eyes?" Loki insisted. "You touched her lifeless corpse? Smelled the foulness of her death?"

I nodded.

Loki looked puzzled. "And yet..." he said hesitantly, speaking more to himself than to me.

"What do you think you know, Loki?" I asked slowly.

Loki's green eyes seemed to coldly burn as he responded. "Sigmund, Laufey, and Ingrid were the last of my blood on Migard. Even through the haze of my father's edict, I knew the existence of their small lives. I sensed the beginning of new life in Ingrid's womb. And I felt the deaths of Sigmund and Laufey. Yet I have not felt the deaths of Ingrid and her child."

Cyrus cast his spells of divination and knowledge. Afterwards, he really did not need to speak. The cold expression on his face told us what he had learned. However, the situation still demanded words.

"It is as we fear," he told us regretfully. "The unborn is tainted."

The child within Ingrid had been concieved in rape and incest, within a ceremonial circle sworn to a power that was inimicable to all that lived. The chances that it would not be unclean were minimal, but there was always hope.

Now that hope had been taken from us. The child was an abomination, a threat to everything. We could not allow it to live. The mother would also have to die. She had conceived one monster, she could conceive another.

Laufey Sigmundson had bargained for - and received - ancient power, but it was his sister and their child who would pay the final price for his pride and arrogance.

There was nothing to say. I had promised Emma that I would leave this issue to the Temple of the Three Goddesses. Frankly, I was relieved. That meant Ingrid's death was not my responsibility.

Or - thank the Old One - Rahne's.

Rahne and I moved away from Ingrid. Victoria wordlessly moved forward. Then she lightly tapped Ingrid on the side of the head with the tip of her weapon. That caused Ingrid to stiffen in alarm - and involuntarily lift her chin. That exposed her neck.

I didn't need to look to know that Rahne, who had become so familiar with violence and death under my "protection", had closed her eyes. Her hand found mine.

Victoria's blade became a silver blur as she swung it with all of her precise might...

Loki listened as I finished the story, his eyes locked on mine.

"James-who-was-once-a-seeker," he told me, "you have been deceived."

Then he smiled. After all, every untruth ultimately honors him.

I said nothing as Loki turned and retreated deeper into the trees. There was no point in following him. His scent vanished almost immediately.

And besides, he had left me with far too much to consider.

Automatically, out of a habit born of long years as a seeker, I looked around me for a sign.

There was none.