SHADOW OF DEATH
Chapter 10: Sand
The grey clouds kept the sun from warming the crisp fall morning. Loki sat on the Pier 4 beach overlooking the dark waters of the bay and the skeletal remains of the city across from him. The past three Sundays proved too busy to allow him to escape to the man-made wasteland, to his personal shrine at the remains of Stark Tower, and to the garden of Mrs. Johnson.
His own little sprout of Canna lilies now stood as tall as Mjolnir in the large pot beside his window in his stolen room. He thought Mrs. Johnson would appreciate that knowledge but her garden remained empty this afternoon. He couldn't help but hope all was well with her. He paused to wonder what stories she came to tell her personal ghosts these past few weeks. Would their spirits hear her from the halls of their ancestors? He didn't know. He grew up hearing such stories but never sought to discover whether truth lay beneath them.
Across the waters, he could see the gaping holes where swathes of city no longer stood. Buildings seemed to have instantly vanished without a trace. Some buildings proved hardier and their blackened, smoldered frames remained, remnants of a world that no longer existed.
He couldn't help but note the similarities between the physical infrastructure and the human. Across Midgard, in what felt like an instant, entire countries had been symbolically demolished. While the strongest of foundations and supports still maintained tentative holds on existence and the possibility of rebuilding what once was, still entire swathes of ways of life now proved entirely demolished. Governments, economies, countries would need to be rebuilt from the ground up and he found himself entirely inadequate for such a mammoth undertaking.
Hostilities and threats of war were brewing between China and Japan in the scrambles for power that had emerged in the vacuum. North Korea "graciously volunteered" to rebuild South Korea, despite the protests of the latter country. Civil wars exploded across Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Guatemala as rival groups sought to take control. His minions would soon quiet these, but in the meantime, precious infrastructure was receiving further damage that they could not afford.
Protests across Europe and North America were hindering efforts to rebuild. Washington D.C. had no choice but to enforce martial law as rioters and protesters stirred chaos into the damaged city. His headquarters in the Triskelion still proved secure, but he did not believe they would remain so. Already, SHIELD was plotting for possible removal to safer locations in case the anarchy continued to increase.
What could he do? He looked again upon the naked steel beams of the city's corpse. What was left when all else had been destroyed and burned away? What was strong enough to remain and be incorporated into the new birth of the city and what would forever be buried in memory?
He gave a sardonic laugh. The handiwork of the "God of Chaos" presupposed an established order. How could mischief exist without accepted norms of what is "good"? How could lies be effective without a commonly shared narrative of truth? What becomes of a shadow when the light has vanished? Without Asgard, without the house of Odin, without Thor, who was Loki? When stripped of his own lies, his own illusions, his own rebellions, what was left? In some places, not even skeletal supports of who he had once been. Simply empty, meaningless spaces remained.
He paused and looked up and down the small beach. Sea gulls cried above him. Bones of fish and birds lay scattered upon the sand, not yet washed away into the sea for burial. The poisoned air and water still seeped into the living. The next few generations of offspring would carry that poison in their blood. Could the memory of such destruction ever truly be erased? Should it be? Was it better to forget everything that had once been and forge on ahead as if it were a blank slate instead of a bloody palimpsest?
The light sand below him also seemed marred. Intermixed with the soft, tan granules, he found larger fragments of various colors. He grabbed handfuls and let it slip through his fingers, gathering some of the discolored grains. He looked closer then he quickly flung them back upon the ground.
It was the city. The initial explosion which seemed to evaporate entire city blocks had not actually made those building disappear. The city was simply melted and reformed into granules of sand. Bits of metal, concrete, glass, and rock that used to form the massive monuments to human power and ingenuity were now reduced to sand on the shores of the sea. They could not be rebuilt to what they once were, nor could they ever truly be erased out of existence.
He turned to lay on his stomach in the sand, carefully analyzing the fragments for what they once were, imagining what mighty structure they once supported. What stories would they tell?
He discovered a glass jar near a can of refuse, washed it out in the sea, and began to fill it with the most interesting of grains of sand. It would come home with him, he thought, and sit next to his lilies. They belonged together, though he would not stop long to muse upon why. He found his mind too full of other matters to let it dwell on those thoughts he found too uncomfortable or too time-consuming. He would think upon those things later-maybe when he found himself with spare time and empty space.
Now, he needed to discover more about the remaining Infinity Stones and Midgard did not provide that information. In order to find out more, he would need to reach the other realms and that would require constructing his own means to reach them.
Unfortunately, the Tesseract and Erik Selvig had both been lost. Dr. Selvig's research and mental prowess would have been instrumental in developing the foundation for another portal or a Midgardian version of a bifrost. Loki sighed. He would need another scientist. Even more unfortunate, his searches through the SHIELD databases showed that the next most qualified candidate for his purposes also proved to be the one he least desired to seek out.
No. He remembered the way those bright eyes shone upon him, as if he (in Thor's visage) hung the moon himself. No, he could not face Dr. Jane Foster again. If he could help it.
The third scientist on his list had also been lost in the New York bombing and the fourth was currently stationed on the International Space Station, well out of his reach. The fifth…was his pride and reluctance so strong that he would stoop to the fifth most qualified candidate rather than facing the second?
Yes. Yes it was.
He determined to journey across the country to seek out Dr. Jones of U.C. Berkeley and grovel for his assistance. He must be better than the alternative. He would leave tomorrow.
Once again, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he had long since memorized. He could easily dismiss it, but he was too curious. It wasn't so much the content of the note but the motivation. Who was the woman who gave it to Mrs. Johnson and why? Was it truly meant for him or was it all a mistake? All the note contained were a series of geo-spatial coordinates. No name, no further explanation, only a series of numbers that led to a location on Midgard. What was he supposed to do with this?
He had searched all he could find on the extensive SHIELD databases. The information he unearthed was surprisingly limited when compared with information on other polities. On the surface, they appeared a small, predominately agrarian country which preferred isolation to involving itself in international affairs. They refused tourism, international investment, charitable aid, importation of goods, and external academic interest in their country. They had no history of political aspirations outside of their own borders, nor did they allow any of the myriad of potentially interested parties' entrance into theirs. They neither wanted to be dependent on others nor wanted others to be dependent on them.
As a master of illusion and deception, he could easily recognize the signs. What were they hiding? There was power in being underestimated, as he well-knew and often utilized. During the past and current conquests of the globe, they had not made the list of "important" and "powerful" countries and thus they remained entirely undisturbed.
He kept returning to the same points. They were stable, they were secretive, and they were isolated. Three characteristics he rather valued and could use of more in his current affairs. He added another task to his ever-growing list.
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Loki stared at the metal door which now stood firmly shut in his face. It failed to reopen. Loki cursed at its dark brown metal face and seriously considered melting it in retribution. He relented and returned to the walk on the pathway through the grassy, open courtyard of the university.
He had tried everything-promises of fame and riches, appeals to curiosity and the benefit of humanity, threats and coercion-and nothing worked. Dr. Jones of U.C. Berkeley, a white-haired, black-spectacled man in an unkempt shirt and blue jeans, simply refused.
"I am happy where I am," the man said. "I like what I am doing here and I am not interested in changing."
When the threats began, Dr. Jones unceremoniously showed Loki to the other side of his metal door.
He could simply use the scepter. It would be so much easier. Free will proved an irritating mortal habit that he much preferred to break them of. In this case, he found his own conscience an even more irritating habit than mortal free will. Without the pressure of imminent world destruction (as threatened by Thanos and Hydra), Loki struggled with the moral justification required to strip another mortal ant of their free will in order to pursue his own aims.
They were mighty aims which would greatly improve the chances that the entire universe would survive and defeat Thanos, but in the end, if he were to choose another mortal ant to force to serve his will, he would not so demean himself by choosing #5.
Unfortunately, his sixth candidate would be giving birth any day, his seventh was hospitalized during the attacks in Beijing, and his eighth was currently stationed in Antarctica.
He cursed himself for his foolhardy, poorly conceived plan of gleaning information from Fury. His own inner turmoil had clouded his vision and kept him from rational thought. How could he so publicly masquerade as Thor during the memorial for the so-called "Avengers"? (Only Stark would come up with so ridiculous a name.) He could have found Fury privately at another time…he could have arrived in an alternate disguise and thus maintained more options for himself now.
Loki sighed and watched as students wandered through the university around him, textbooks in hand. They behaved as though the world around them continued on in mundane order. They did not look as though they were a vanquished, conquered people. And maybe they weren't, not completely.
He was tempted to remove his disguise and parade through the crowded courtyard in full armor, calling for them to give him the honor due him as their king, as the one who determined whether they would live to see another day or end their miserable existence. He imagined their shock and fear in seeing he still lived, still conquered. It would be world news by night fall and all would tremble.
Unfortunately, that would not change his current state of humiliation or reduce the unpleasantness of his next task. It would also not curry any more favor with his current obstacle.
He would need to grovel…to Jane Foster.
This could not go well. No matter how he presented himself, this could not end well, and he had no one to blame but himself for his own folly.
If he played at being Thor, he would need to maintain the illusion perpetually and he easily tired of the masquerade. While the glamour was easy enough to maintain, it was the personality that he could not abide for long. Thor's effervescent cheerfulness, his gregarious positivity-Loki could only manage it for an hour at most before he felt compelled to skewer himself on his own sword in protest.
He could look like Thor but act like Loki…and give himself away within five minutes. Jane, while only minimally acquainted with his brother, was keen enough to notice the difference between Asgard's beloved golden prince and their rejected and disgraced former king. Then he would appear a liar (which he was) but it would not help him gain her trust.
He could appear as Loki-but he informed her himself that Loki is dead and Thor lives. Correcting her on his original story will doubtlessly leave him with a weeping, angry woman who will blame him for the deaths of both Thor and her beloved Erik Selvig. This would not gain her trust or cooperation.
He could masquerade as an agent of SHIELD or an anonymous benefactor interested in furthering her work. He could use the scepter and force her cooperation.
Regardless, he would need to do something.
He sighed, pulled out the white card with her contact information on it, and dialed the numbers."Hello, Dr. Foster," he said as a woman's voice greeted him from the other side.
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Author's notes: the city-turned-to-sand came from an article I read on the aftermath of the atomic blast in Hiroshima. If you are interested, look up "What Happened, Physically, to the City of Hiroshima After the A-Bomb" in Japan Times.