Chapter Two
Intense darkness was accompanied by excruciating pain. A scream ripped through his senses that didn't sound like his own, yet he knew it was because it echoed the molten fire that swept through his limbs. Then there was an explosion of sharp golden light that ended his torment as suddenly as it had come.
He was either dead and this was Valhalla, or he had made the passing to Midgard.
He blinked open his eyes, discovering that the bright light was streaming in through a small window; what appeared to be a Midgardian window for it possessed none of the size or grandeur of Valhalla.
The casting had worked!
He flinched when he felt a warm trickle run down from his nose and he quickly reached up to investigate. Drawing back his hand he discovered it smeared with blood.
His nose was bleeding?
As he started to sit up his vision swam nauseatingly and he stopped, waiting for the world to cease spinning. While he did so he was forced to acknowledge the pounding behind his temples, the heaviness of his limbs, and the abnormal racing of his heart.
It seemed he hadn't emerged totally unscathed from the incantation after all, though considering its intensity, he told himself that he should be thankful he wasn't feeling any worse.
After several long deep breaths he felt recovered enough to rise to his knees, though he still didn't feel well enough to attempt standing. Instead, he took a moment to observe his surroundings, his keen instincts, gleaned over the centuries, reassuring him that the house was empty and there was no immediate need for a hasty exit. In his present weakened state he didn't think he'd be able to summon the energy to vacate the building even if he had to.
He appeared to be in a living area. Very small compared to Asgardian standards, though the stone fireplace and chimney breast were generous for such a modest room. There was no Asgardian finery, but it was not an unpleasant dwelling, certainly no hovel, possessing a warmth and intimacy that might be tolerable...in small doses.
There were exposed dark wood beams across the low ceiling and walls, the latter beams partly submerged in a smooth cream coloured plaster. The room possessed an archaic atmosphere, a sense of history, of time, and he suspected it was a couple of centuries old, what a Midgardian would call a cottage.
The furniture was minimal - a small, well worn sofa situated opposite the fireplace, scattered with cushions and flanked by two matching chairs; a low rectangular table topped with a bowl of fruit; a couple of tall lamps; varying sized rugs littering the floor, and several large plants nestling in corners and niches.
He felt more blood trickle from his nose and wiped it away impatiently as he continued his scrutiny.
A tall, wide, dresser filled most of the back wall, dotted with candles, ornamentation, but mostly pictures in frames - what the Midgardian's called photographs. A young couple smiled back at him from most of them.
Wanting to view them more closely, he made a second attempt to rise. The nausea returned but it was more subdued now, the dizziness less severe. Reaching out an arm to steady himself he slowly manoeuvred his aching limbs across to the photographs, leaning heavily against the dresser for support.
Loki frowned down at the mortals, wondering why he even cared what they looked like. But since he had nothing better to do, it would pass the time while his body recovered from the effects of the incantation.
The man was dark haired and uninteresting, possessing no redeeming features, like most Midgardians. The woman, though nowhere near as beautiful as the women on Asgard, had an enchanting smile and shock of long flame-red hair that he found particularly intriguing. Few Asgardian women possessed such a striking hair colour.
His frown deepened, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.
Why had the incantation transported him into the house of a young mortal couple? A married couple, he realised, his eyes falling upon a wedding photograph. He found himself reaching for it, drawn once again to the woman's hair, now piled high upon her head and decorated with tiny flowers. It contrasted so vividly against the white of her bridal gown.
Replacing the frame, he gave the others one final look that was part disdain, part boredom. He saw no photographs of children, so assumed they had not reached that stage in their pitifully short lives.
He suddenly tensed, sensing a presence behind him. Turning with a start, that rendered him slightly dizzy again, he was surprised to find no one there. That was, until he dropped his gaze.
The large, grey, long-haired, cat regarded him from the living room floor. There was curiosity within the angular green eyes, but no trace of fear.
Loki raised an eyebrow as it blinked lazily up at him.
Rolling his eyes he turned away. Midgardians had such an obsession with keeping animals in their homes. Ignoring it, he made for the nearest door, though every step proved a challenge – his legs felt like lead. He wondered whether it would be wiser to lie down for a short while. A full recovery might be swifter that way.
He entered a small hallway that contained a narrow flight of stairs and three further doors. One was clearly the main exit he eagerly sought, but he found himself hesitating, attention snared to another, which was slightly ajar.
Books?
Curiosity got the better of him and he reached out, opening it wide, staring through the sunlight and swirling dust motes into what must have been the smallest library in existence. Three sides of the tiny box room, minus the doorway, were filled with books from floor to ceiling. The forth wall contained a mahogany desk and plush black leather chair in front of a wide window.
It was the woman's domain, he surmised. Not only was it extremely tidy and ordered, there were too many feminine touches – a vase of fresh flowers on the window sill, crystals hanging above that cast rainbows across the room, and upon the desk was a framed photograph of the dark haired man. He doubted he would have a photograph of himself upon his desk.
As well as the photograph, there was one of those machines...what was it called? A lap...top? And another, chunkier machine, that had blank paper stacked up beside it. Midgardian...technology...still daunted him. It was a strange, unpredictable sort of magic, though he felt he would like to master it one day.
He clenched his fists. If everything had gone to plan during his first visit, and those cursed Avengers hadn't interfered, he would have had a Midgardian servant explain it to him by now. His humiliating defeat still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Calming himself, he slowly unfurled his fingers, reminding himself that there were still other realms. Still time. He wouldn't fail again.
His mother's face flashed into his mind and he sighed.
But first, he was stuck on this miserable world for a year. And it was only his love for Frigga, and the guilt of her death, that would keep him here. Though how he was supposed to do good, he couldn't begin to fathom. The God of Mischief didn't do good!
Vexed by the very thought, he turned, scowling down at his feet when he realised that the cat was following him. Continuing to ignore it, he vowed that if the beast dared trip him up he wouldn't hesitate to give it a little kick.
But at that moment, the cat's ears suddenly pricked back and it hurried back out into the hall. Loki tensed as the sound of a key began turning in the front door lock.
Author's note - I didn't elaborate on the incantation that brought Loki to Earth. Let's just say that it was a very powerful teleporting spell that kinda became obsolete and forgotten once the Gods became able to teleport themselves to realms via Heimdall and that rainbow gate thingie! :P