Regarding certain aspects of this chapter, try to remember that Darcy is a normal human, and as such she will make pop culture references and comparisons sometimes. Also, keep in mind that Jotunheim is essentially a whole planet, and therefore would probably have millions if not billions of inhabitants, even accounting for the ones Loki killed. (Unlike Asgard which gave the impression of being far smaller—as in, small enough to be ruled by a single aristocratic family.)
This is NOT the cliffhanger chapter. But it's very close. Next one, I promise, will be the cliffhanger. As in The Cliffhanger.
Enjoy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Freya shook her head mournfully as she looked out over the field of frost giants who continued to bombard the front gates with their fists and clubs. "We can't keep this up," she murmured to Heimdall, who stood alongside her, a somber expression on his face. "The palace is not designed to defend against so many attackers at once. What are we going to do?"
"We will do what we must," he said evenly. "We will do whatever is necessary to protect the innocent."
Freya's eyes widened. "Surrender?" she said incredulously. Heimdall inclined his head slightly, his manner of nodding. Freya crossed her arms as if a sudden chill had come through the room. "No warrior in Asgard's history has ever surrendered in battle," she said, "it is unheard of. It is cowardly."
"Is it so cowardly to sacrifice one's pride, or that of a people, for the sake of protecting innocent lives? I think it would be cowardice not to."
Freya bit her lip. "You're right," she said, resigned. "I shall make the announcement." She turned on her heel to leave, her lovely eyes brimming with tears, when Heimdall caught her by the shoulder.
"Listen," he said. Freya looked up as if searching for a noise.
The blare of a trumpet pierced the air. A shout went up throughout the palace.
"The Warriors have returned!"
"They've come to protect us!"
"We're saved!"
Freya nearly collapsed against the wall in relief. "Thank the All-Father," she said, shaking. "Hope is not lost."
"Hope?" Heimdall said. "No. We have regained that much. But victory is another matter, and far more uncertain. We will need more than our small army of capable warriors to defeat so many jotun. We need luck."
It seemed as if an hour had passed by the time Darcy reached the top of the spiral stairs to Loki's chambers. She clutched her side as she gasped to catch her breath, mind racing. Now that she thought about it, she had taken an inordinate amount of time climbing the stairs, and not for lack of speed. She had been running as fast as she could the whole way without stumbling. How long could the staircase have been? She glanced over her shoulder and gasped.
The base of the stairs was scarcely twenty feet away.
She blinked, and took off her glasses to rub them frantically against her cloak. She put them back on her nose clumsily.
Darcy was looking directly at a smooth wall of black marble only inches from her face. The stairs were gone.
She let out a little squeak of terror, bracing herself against the wall for support. The moment her fingers touched the smooth stone, ropes shot out of nowhere and bound her wrists to the wall. She struggled frantically; the ropes tightened as she fought, wriggling like snakes. As she watched, one of the cords split itself in two, the newly freed section of rope springing to life and enfolding her waist like a boa constrictor.
She closed her eyes, shaking uncontrollably. She could feel her skin freezing, but somehow her stomach burned. She felt like she wanted to throw up but couldn't. They're snakes. Snakes everywhere. Snakes clutching at her wrists, her arms. Snakes crawling in her ears. She screamed; something was crawling underneath her skin, wriggling down her spine into her veins, into her nerves. They were everywhere…around her wrists, under her skin, inside her mind, reading her thoughts, around her waist…
On a plane. Out of nowhere, Darcy found herself giggling. Somehow, though her heart was pounding an off-kilter taiko solo against her ribcage, though every fiber of her body was spasming from the invasion under her skin, she started laughing hysterically. She realized that she was going to die here, but it was okay, because she was going to do it smiling, with Samuel L. Jackson screaming in her head about motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, Darcy was free. She fell to her knees, shivering slightly, her skin still cold and clammy, her fit of hilarity abruptly vanished. As she breathed deeply through gritted teeth she realized that she had not breathed since the ropes had grabbed her. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of being able to simply take in air without fear.
"How peculiar."
Darcy jumped, and she lost her kneeling balance. The moment she fell, her euphoria vanished. She suddenly remembered where she was, what she was doing here. She stared down at the floor where the voice had come from to find a pair of black boots. She looked up.
Loki stood over her…but it was not Loki.
His cheekbones jutted out more than they should on his pale face, his eyes hooded with lowered eyelids and long lashes. His eyes stung at her like green chips of ice. She shivered. He looked different, wrong somehow. He seemed hungry for something. Hollow.
He smiled sardonically at her silent gaping, but his eyes failed to light up with even a hint of humor. It was a perfunctory smile, meant to intimidate. "Pray tell, who are you, and why do you seek entrance to my chambers?" he whispered. His voice sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that voice. It was the one he used when he was trying to distract her.
"I…I'm Darcy," she stammered. "Darcy Lewis. Your…um…" She frowned. "I'm really not sure what we are, actually, we never really established that." Not-Loki blinked at her coldly. She prattled on thoughtlessly; anything to keep him talking, figure out what was going on. "I guess I'm your girlfriend, but we haven't really been on a date. And we haven't slept together. But we've, like, made out once or twice. That, uh…" Not-Loki's smile was growing with every word, evolving into something animal, like she was prey and he was a panther watching, deciding whether or not she was worth the trouble. "That counts," she finished awkwardly. "I think."
"Well," Not-Loki replied, "Darcy Lewis, that is a very interesting story you have just told me. And if a situation ever came about where it would suit my purposes to have a mortal plaything, choosing you does not sound repulsive." Darcy's stomach knotted. She couldn't understand it. He should have been irresistible to her, like Loki always was…but something was wrong. It was a bizarre feeling; she couldn't explain it, she couldn't pin it down, but he was different. It was almost like watching the General's facial expressions play out on a handsome face, listening to his words spoken in an alluring, hypnotic voice.
"W-who are you?" Darcy stammered hesitantly. "You're not Loki, are you?"
Not-Loki laughed. "The pretty mortal can think," he said scornfully. "How disgustingly adorable." He stared at her, his lips quirking in a mocking gesture. "Who do you think I am?"
She swallowed, turning her chin up in the best attempt at defiance that she could muster. "I think you're a what," she said, shaking. "You look almost exactly like Loki, you have his voice, but you aren't him. You don't act like him. You're strange to me. It's like…" She paused. "It's like you're a doppelganger."
Not-Loki narrowed his eyes at her. "My goodness," he said condescendingly, "you are a clever one, aren't you?" Darcy stared at him dumbly. Not-Loki put his hands out with a flourish. "I am a doppelganger," Not-Loki said, "or something close to it. I am an enchantment. I am the embodiment of Loki's personality, appearance, and mannerisms as they appeared when he performed the enchantment. I know everything that he did. I behave as he would. But I have no feelings. Only instincts and his commands which I obey."
"Commands, such as?" Darcy supplied.
Not-Loki smiled mysteriously. "You will see." And then, with a cry of hysterical laughter that would make a vaudevillian villain quake in his boots, he vanished, and everything went dark.
Sif wiped the sweat from her brow as she withdrew her sword from another hapless giant, scarcely catching her breath before moving on to the next opponent. She let out a ferocious battle cry. Before the newly slain giant touched the ground, Sif was sprinting forward.
She found herself fighting back-to-back with Fandral, who was fending off an unusually clever jotun with obvious difficulty.
"Why," he gasped, "won't—you—die?"
"Maybe because you haven't killed him yet," Sif snapped, feet dancing in tandem with Fandral's as they turned on the spot, each fighting their own battle.
"I was being rhetorical, damn it!" he yelled. "Now will you please either be silent or help me?"
She rolled her eyes and pushed Fandral aside. With one deft slice, she stabbed the giant through the heart. As he fell towards her, she guided his spear under her arm to slay her own opponent.
Both giants eliminated, she took back her sword from the chest of the first giant. Fandral gaped at her.
"We'll have plenty of time to catch flies later," she said. "Now get your jaw off the floor and fight."
Thor made to stride forward, but Loki caught his arm firmly. "Brother," he hissed. "I don't think now is the time for you to attempt to learn diplomacy."
"The last I checked, I was in command," Thor said. "I was under the impression that the giants had a bit of a grudge against you."
"Yes, but they're not exactly best friends with you either," Loki pointed out.
Thor ignored his brother, shaking his hand away as he approached the front lines of the jotun army where the General stood waiting.
"Ah," he growled, smiling wolfishly. "So glad to see that you could join my little party."
"General Orðin," Thor said. He glanced around. "I hesitate to call this a party."
"Well, it may not be the sort of grand feast you are used to, but I assure you it is a party in its own right." He sneered, tilting his head. "My people have a word for this sort of party: a bloodbath."
The canyon shook with thunderous laughter. Thor smiled politely.
The General held up a hand for silence. "Enough!" he bellowed. "Enough merriment," he said in a low voice. "Let us settle the matter for which we came here. General Thor, I order you to surrender."
Thor glared at him. "Consider your order disobeyed," he countered.
The General laughed. "My friend," he said, "this is not a matter of choice. This is a matter of no alternative for you and your people." He reached into his cloak. "Observe." He held up a small lens so that the light shone through from his soldiers' torches. "Ysrad," he roared. The Aesir looked on in horror as the lens burned bright and opalescent before shifting into a myriad of horrifying images.
Asgard was over-run. As far as the eye could see, extending beyond the edges of the lens' view, a sea of blue giants churned, bright flashes of metal catching the sunlight in paths that were destined to end with bloodshed. Loki could barely make out the Asgardian army among the chaos; Sif was the tiny black dot dancing among the sea of blue with the most ease, leaving a faintly visible trail of red in her wake as she slayed jotun. The other warriors were indistinguishable, faceless Aesir too distant for recognition.
The picture vanished. Thor was silent, staring blankly at the place where the lens had been moments before. His thoughts were written clearly on his face: the children, Frigga, Jane.
The General read Thor's reaction correctly, smirking slightly. "I see that even the warrior prince is cowed," he said. "He wonders, how much is he willing to give to save the ones he loves?"
Thor gritted his teeth. "What do you want?" he asked stiffly.
"An end to this war right now, without any more bloodshed, on the condition that you and your people surrender unconditionally."
"No," Thor said harshly.
The General grinned, baring yellow teeth. "Yes, Odinson. I think unconditional surrender sounds like an entirely reasonable proposal from my perspective." He narrowed his eyes in mock-thought. "Of course, if the crime which started this conflict were punished, I would be willing to leave you your pathetic realm." He paused for effect. "Return the mortal known as Darcy to Jotunheim, never to leave again, and I will end this conflict."
Darcy screamed until her throat felt like it was going to tear open, but she still couldn't hear a sound. For that matter, she couldn't hear, or smell, or taste, or feel anything. She had no perception of space, of temperature, of time—it was as though she were a disjointed mind, a spirit without a body, suspended in a void, in some eternal vacuum that was infinite yet nonexistent at the same time.
It made her mind ache just to think about it. But she had to think. If she didn't think, there would be nothing left. She would go mad. Her stream of thought was the last remaining thread between life and death, chaining her to existence. If she stopped thinking, she would cease to be.
Got to get out…got to get out…save Asgard…save children…save Jane…where's Loki? Where are the warriors? Are they alive? Are they hurt? Are they coming back? Did Loki betray them again? Oh God, oh God, oh God, he did. That's why he's gone. He betrayed us. It was his plan all along. It was a game. He's the chess master. I'm a pawn. A puppet on a string. A pawn. And he made me think I was a queen. I don't want to be a pawn. I don't want to be a queen either. I don't want to play this game. I want to be real. I want to be myself.
I have to get out of here to stop Loki.
What am I thinking? This is Loki I'm thinking about.
Loki the Liar.
No, stop it. You're spinning. This isn't real. Nobody is betraying anyone.
Denial. Denial. Denial. Denial. Denial.
Shut up!
Loki the liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.
Leave me alone. I don't want to hear this.
You know it's true.
No. He kissed me. Kisses can't lie.
Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.
I could feel it. He wasn't lying.
Denial. Denial. Denial.
Darcy's head pounded as though she were grinding her teeth, screwing her eyes shut. Before she realized what she was doing, she was opening her mouth, her lips forming words, her lungs exploding in a final, defiant blaze, unwilling to be silenced.
"STOP!"
She landed on the cold floor in a heap, out of breath once again. She lay still for a moment, enjoying the ability to feel again. Her armor was uncomfortable. Her skin was feverish. The cool stone felt nice against her flaming cheeks.
"Have you given up, then?"
She could hear. It was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, she was relieved that the first voice she heard was Loki's melodic speech…but on the other hand, it wasn't him. It sent little shivers down her spine, but they weren't the warm, velvety shivers that made her feel like she was going to melt into a little heap, grinning like an idiot. They were cold shivers. Snake-crawling shivers. Eyes on the back of her head shivers. Jotun shivers.
She glared up at the speaker, past black boots and a sweeping cloak to meet Loki's cold green eyes.
"No," she said fiercely, "I haven't given up. And I won't give up until I get what I need, until you let me into Loki's chambers."
Not-Loki lost his sarcastic smile, glaring down at Darcy coolly. "Very well," he hissed. He waved a hand, and Darcy felt as though she were being pushed and pulled to her feet by a multitude of hands, moving like waves up her arms and legs to force her from the ground.
She swayed on her feet, glowering at Not-Loki. "You could have told me to stand."
"Yes," Not-Loki replied smoothly, "but it's so much more fun to toy with you, Darcy Lewis. You're so easily riled up, by the strangest of things, I might add. You're a very unusual mortal. But that will just make my capture of you more entertaining, won't it?"
"What do you mean, capture?" Darcy tried not to let her fear show. She couldn't be stranded here in the tower with this Loki doppelganger forever. She had to get back; she had to help the others.
"I mean capture, silly girl," Not-Loki drawled. "As in, seizure. Detention. Imprisonment. In choosing not to surrender and leave this tower, you have chosen a dangerous path. If you fail to pass my last test, you will remain with me here, to do with as I please until my creator returns." He smiled. "And like my creator, I can be quite a sadist when I choose to be."
"If I pass the test?"
Not-Loki put his hands up. "Then you, mortal, are permitted entry to Loki's chambers, to do what you wish therein. Although I warn you not to try and steal anything. He is quite inventive with his spellcraft, and I daresay the effects of his protective enchantments on some of his belongings would be quite severe."
"I'm not a thief," Darcy snapped. "Not usually. Give me the test."
Not-Loki laughed. "Impatient, aren't you, Darcy Lewis?"
Her only reply was a cold stare.
"Well, if you insist, I shall oblige." He licked his lips. "The final test is a puzzle. Solve it, and you may pass. Guess incorrectly, and you remain with me. Loki, generous man that he is, has deigned to be merciful in this instance and allow me to give you one hint to help you solve the riddle. To ask for the hint, you must say using these words exactly: 'I request the hint.' Do you understand?"
Darcy nodded, closing her eyes in preparation.
"Here is my riddle:
"What seldom sleeps
But often lies?
What comes and goes
But never dies?
The web Edmund spun
Around the King Lear
The tales Iago told
To play Othello's fears
Were selfish means
To noble ends
Their goals far more dear
Than trust between friends
When all else has failed,
I am the key
To get what you want
You have to have me
As to my size,
I am nine wide
And if you should slice me
Four ways I'd divide
What am I?"
Darcy bit her lip. "I request the hint," she said quietly.
"There isn't one."
Darcy's eyes widened. "What?"
Not-Loki shrugged. "There is no hint."
Darcy lunged at Not-Loki furiously, curling her hands into fists. "You bastard! You…" She froze in mid-swing, her fist scarcely an inch from the doppelganger's face. Seldom sleeps but often lies. "You liar," she whispered. Nine wide…four ways I'd divide…She thought fervently for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought as she racked her brain for the solution. She smiled triumphantly. "I know what the answer is."
"Then speak it, mortal."
"Mendacity."
With a sound like a lion's roar, Not-Loki stopped dead in his tracks. His face flickered for a moment…first fearful, then ecstatic, then horrified, and finally…sad.
And then he was gone.
Darcy looked around, and was taken aback. There was the staircase, right behind her, not two feet away: spiraling and utterly ordinary. And before her was a door. A simple door with no handle made of the same black stone as the walls around it.
She reached out hesitantly, and touched it.
Without so much as a creak, the door swung open at her touch. Darcy paused before she stepped over the threshold, glancing over her shoulder once more, half-expecting something else to leap out at her.
But nothing was there. And Darcy had the strangest nagging thought…what if it was all in her head?
AN: Reviews are love. Keep them coming. Seriously, I get all excited and epic music starts playing in my head when I see that I have more than 100 reviews. Okay, there's ALWAYS epic music playing in my head, because I used to want to be a film composer, but that's beside the point.