Tales Of The Nine Realms
By Rob Morris
1
The Boy Talks To Empty Air
He was known by one name, and he was exploring what another meant, and for the first time, he was doing it on his own. One might be forgiven for assuming this had gotten to him in the worst way.
"You've been shadowing my movements, likely since just after the wake for your brother. For the record, I thought it best you not see me there. You pushed past my father, to hear it told. Wow, most people don't do or survive that."
To all appearances, he was speaking to no one at all.
"Not that he'd hurt you – I know, any further than we have – you sneered so hard, I can voice your responses. I've tried really owning up to everything in my thoughts – what a snot I was, how ungrateful we both were – all that, but even in my imagination, you still scream your and my head off, so real life is out until I have at least that much."
Of course, he could not be certain the target of his monologue was anywhere in the vicinity. But he had come to know the kinds of situations the dwarf had used for surveillance. This one seemed ripe.
"So I won't bother you today with how much I hate my choices leading up to what Odin pulled. But I do want to make one thing clear, whether you care to hear it or not. And no, I won't shut up unless you come out here and shut me up, because this needs to be said."
He had managed to elicit brief shouts, often garbled by unspent rage, and containing so many colorful expletives, even Brok would have – eventually – shushed him.
"Okay. So, first thing – we were NOT going to let Odin go. Far past you and all the harm he did, all the scummy tricks he pulled on your family and your people – even to those poor beasts – there was way way WAY too much for him to answer for. Also, any kind of rehabilitation was out. I gave him that chance before waving him into the marble. Finally, it wasn't just not wanting to kill anymore, though that was a big one, I'll admit."
Of course he didn't hear a sound, but local pebbles and rocks he himself had placed in certain patterns were now in different ones. Not all of that endless Fimbulwinter training had been a mere distraction.
"We intended to keep the marble intact because we were afraid he might transmigrate. One of the Ravens, his spear, the rope Freya used – probably not the Blades or the Axe – too much blood magic on those – that marble was meant to be his prison. Yeah, it seems like you sent him on his way to the Lake or worse. Freya seems to think all the stuff he did to himself seeking knowledge might have even fragmented his soul. I hope we never find out. I get that he sought knowledge, but people can be selfless and seek knowledge. You taught me that – whatever other lessons you now want to teach me. Anyway, not looking to spare him, so much as know where he was."
The boy felt it then. Not the movement of his possible stalker. But that, somewhere inside a small body that was now a portable rage engine, one tiny onion-like layer of that hurt and upset had dissipated, the answer at least satisfying to that one point of order. He knew there were many more layers, some thick as a mountain. So he kept on.
"I can't right my wrongs against you and your brother. My explanations and apologies will mean nothing to you for at least a very long time, according to Father and Mimir, so I won't bother right now. Again, I can't undo my mistakes. I'm responsible for bringing the butcher that killed your brother into your home, a home you gladly opened up to us. Nothing can change that."
The boy then produced a marble.
"But if you give me time, and some undeserved peace, I might – might – be able to undo one of your mistakes. No, this marble doesn't have him in it. Right here and now, I don't even know where to begin looking for him. I'm not sure how the Realm Between Realms affects a wandering essence without a full soul.. I have seen indications that maybe his lack of a complete soul helped him to see through Odin, but that doesn't help us, does it?"
Atreus or Loki, the boy regarded the marble.
"What might help is what this contains. There's a large crater in Vanaheim, where it seems like my Mother fought Thor back when. The souls there were sundered. This is a fragment of one of those – got cast really far off, but I can now use it to trace the other parts."
He didn't speak of the implications. His former friend had the wit to grasp them.
"There are no guarantees. Except that I'm getting better at this every day. There are several spots where – call it overflow – from The Lake Of Souls spurts out. Among the other things I'm learning is that even a piece of a soul doesn't just wash away or become dispersed. Odin? He probably ran for the Lake without realizing it. But these people from the crater held on to deliver long-dead messages or even toys. Unfinished business is the key. The more they have, the more stubbornly they held on. Do I need to say who the most stubborn one we all knew was – besides my father? All I ask is the chance to help him through if I can."
The Realms felt a jarring, as the one between them was used repeatedly and suddenly. The dagger was drawn, and the position the boy walked in was run through in less than a heartbeat.
"AND NOW – my business is finished!"
But the dwarf was talking to empty air. A man who could vanish and reappear quicker than anyone could realize had been outdone – no – he had been tricked. He saw the circle around him. The wind would soon break it, but for there and then, Sindri was trapped, left alone with the thoughts of killing a kid he thought of as a little brother and the promise he had made to try and make one small aspect of this nightmare right. His brains still boiling over, he cried out.
"ATREUSSSSSS!"
From atop a cliff side's overlook, he stood with bow raised, a shot fired well past the enraged dwarf.
"Call Me Loki."
And then the dwarf was indeed talking to empty air.