Surrender, Chapter 7: Goodbyes

Loki knew this forest.

His momentary gain faltered, weakened; he was running out of time. The burning pains began to return, but he dragged his feet forward. Forward into Mirella’s garden.

Loki fell to his knees once he entered the hedged garden. His head burned, and he clutched at it with with both hands as he let the staff fall to the ground. Each breath stung his raw throat, but he hoarsely murmured, “Call— Freyr—”

Mirella’s shining green eyes glistened with caution. She approached Loki slowly as a cat stalking through grass and laid a hand on the back of his head. She frowned with concern when she saw the staff, and her gaze trailed off into the distance toward the mountains—to where L’Shale had been kept for ages until now. She closed her eyes to enter Loki’s thoughts.

The inside of Loki’s mind had become a jumble of broken parts, a home carelessly ravaged and ransacked. All around her she sensed barriers burning and memories threatened with incineration. She searched quickly for a familiar trail by which she could find his consciousness.

Everyone had a mental signature—a vision, scene, or representation that captured their essence. It took only moments, but she searched through years of his memories looking for him—he was hiding himself in hopes of slowing L'Shale's control. Finally, she felt his familiar chill and followed it straight to him. The memory was actually not a memory at all, but a construct—a created space within Loki's mind. This particular construct was a large castle. Loki crouched in the corner of a large well-furnished room. Bookshelves, tables, bed clothes, curtains—everything was aflame except for a small area that surrounded him. The flames did not touch her as she moved through the room.

She approached Loki and calmly asked, “Do you remember me, Asgardian?”

He looked up at her with a wry smile,  “Are you here to join me in my own personal hell? Fitting that I should be accompanied by a creature that can control what I could not without burning myself alive.” He then asked more seriously, “Is this room all that is left of me? Have I lost?”

“No, Loki. You are indeed like the wild stags I admire—strong of will and arrogant.” She smiled knowingly.

He had no time for compliments. The flames and the pain grew ever hotter. He masked his anxiety with impatience. “Then why have you come? Will Freyr not help me?”

“I have called Freyr. He comes with great haste. But time may pass differently within your mind. I have come to offer my aid, if you would take it.” She took his hand, and he let himself be pulled upright.

Without warning the scenery changed. They were no longer in the burning room, but a massive frozen cave. The floor was slick and difficult to walk upon—it was ice. Loki looked around, puzzled. The pain L’Shale was causing him had lessened, but still remained like a braced wound. “Where are we?” His voice echoed through the expansive cavern. He tried to take his hand back, but Mirella held onto him tightly.

“Do not let me go. I have shielded you from L’Shale, but I cannot hold it for long. This place is how you feel to me. It is your essence.” The cave was dingy, cold, and barren. Ice hung from the cave’s rocky ceiling. It seemed nothing had been there for thousands of years, if life had ever existed there at all.

“This...reminds you of me?” His words were surprised rather than incredulous.

“Yes,” she smiled, showing endearment for her choice. “A frozen underground lake. At a glance it is only layers of cold and darkness, but beneath the frozen barrier the lake's water teems with life. That is what you are to me.”

Before Loki could comment further on Mirella’s choice of venue, the cavern began to warm. Ice melted from the ceilings, and Mirella’s serene face became creased with worry. “I cannot hold him back much longer, Loki. You must endure. You must want to stay alive.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want to stay alive.”

“You must not surrender to L’Shale. If not for your father’s distraction, you would have been lost.”

“You rummaged through my memories, too?” This time he did speak incredulously. Spite for his father’s aid had driven him back to Alfheim rather than allow Odin to help rid himself of L’Shale’s influence. No one likes to bring their faults to light.

“I’ve seen much of your life, Loki. I am sorry to have looked through your memories, but it was necessary to find you. You hid yourself well within your...castle?” The word was not part of her typical vocabulary. Her delicate brow furrowed slightly as her green eyes searched his face. “I understand little of Asgardian customs, but I did see that you are solitary by choice, not fate. A sheep that left the flock to become a wolf.”

“I was a lion raised among lambs,” he defended hotly. “I was not born to be herded; I was born to be a king.” Comparing the warrior gods of Asgard to lambs clearly showed his lack of regard.

Quickly she countered, “Should you not first rule yourself before planning to rule others?” What could a wild Fae understand of kings? He considered a refutation, but he knew her observation was correct.

The ice beneath their feet began to crack and shift noisily. The cave itself flickered, and Mirella clung to Loki’s hands, but her concentration was overpowered. Abruptly the cavern melted away and heat rushed in on them both. They were back in the burning castle room again.

L’Shale’s molten voice seared their ears. “Ah...so you do have a friend, Loki. You hid her memory well. And she is a Fae. How interesting! It was most kind of her to leave a trail straight to you—I may even let you watch her little green leaves burn. Knock, knock.” The knock at the large wooden door could have been a battering ram.

They both turned to stare at the door, dropping each others’ hands. “What’s taking Freyr so long? Will he show himself here as well?” Loki ignored the returning pain for now. It seemed Mirella’s shielding, however brief, had given him more strength.

Mirella looked around the room. “He may not appear as we have, but as a symbol or—” Her sentence cut off as she leapt across the flame-covered room. She beckoned him to join her, “Loki! The flames cannot hurt you if you do not let them. Do not fear him!"

L’Shale rumbled with growing anticipation, “Knock, knock!” The door threatened to shatter, but held fast.

Loki proceeded cautiously and found her advice correct—the flames did not touch him as he walked through them. Well if it had been that easy before... The thought faded as he saw what Mirella had found. She stood next to a large bowl the size of a kitchen’s cook pot—big enough that the two of them would need to work together to shift it. The bowl did not look carved, though, more like grown. It was rough and bark-covered to the touch and filled with water.

“It would seem Freyr has sent us some help—”

Before Loki could remark further on the bowl’s origins, the door burst open admitting a large figure that could only be L’Shale. He towered above the two of them, a hulking conglomeration of gray rocky appendages that oozed lava from the cracks between them. A craggy mouth and two fiery coal eyes rumbled a greedy laugh as his hungry gaze fell on the two of them across the room.

Mirella spoke quietly so that only Loki would hear her. “We’ll have to push it over together. The water will not defeat him, but it should buy us enough time to escape the room and trap him here. It will be up to Freyr to rebind L'Shale."

L’Shale lumbered closer, “Loki,” Seeing him speak his name sent shivers down Loki’s spine, and truly struck a chord of fear in his heart. But rather than betray his fear, he remained silent and managed to keep a straight face. “You have lost, Loki. I will take care of this place when you are gone. I appreciate all your help.” L’Shale seemed to smile again—if rocks could smile. He advanced on the two of them in three strides, reaching for Loki with both of his rocky, lava-drenched arms. The lava fell to the floor in clumps, burning the carpets where it landed.

Loki stood frozen with fear. You have to do it now! You have to get out! He willed his voice to speak and was surprised to hear himself shout.

“Now!” Loki yelled, and the two of them hefted the large wooden bowl so its contents splashed onto the floor and ran over both of L’Shale’s legs. When water met lava smoke hissed and blanketed the room. Fires across the floor and furniture were extinguished immediately. L’Shale bellowed in pain, but the remaining flames in the room leapt even higher. While L’Shale struggled to maneuver his stiff hardening legs, Loki grabbed Mirella’s hand, and they fled for the door. As he passed through the doorway, a cool wave washed all trace of L’Shale’s destruction from his mind. The fire was no longer rampaging through his psyche; it was all contained within the room along with L’Shale himself.

L’shale crumbled and oozed toward them in a wailing rage. No! L’Shale can’t be allowed to leave that room. I’ll just close the door and—

Mirella squeezed Loki’s hand before she let go of it. “Goodbye, my frozen lake. Stay strong.” She rushed into the room and crouched between L’Shale and the doorway ready to pounce. She glanced toward the hallway, and Loki saw her face just before the door slammed shut. It was mischievous and determined, but her eyes displayed something else. It took a moment for him to recognize the look—she was regretful.

There was only silence in the dark hallway, dimness and silence. Her actions caught up with him, and he threw his weight against at the door frantically trying to open it. “Mirella! Open the door! There must be another way!” It wouldn’t budge. She’s going to get herself killed. Foolish little Fae! Why would she sacrifice herself to save me?

He let go of the door and backed away from it. When his back hit the wall he slumped down into a crouch with his arms around his knees. All the pain really was gone, but now it felt as if all feeling was gone. The drab hallway seemed to press in on him, and the consequences of his lifelong choices weighed heavily upon his shoulders—he was very alone. What does it matter that I rule these empty halls? This is only a desolate, nameless castle—not even a true place. Yet this is the cold world I have built around myself. There are no soldiers here to guard it, no subjects to rule, no one else at all to live for. There is only me. I am truly alone.

*************

After an infinite moment of contemplation, Loki awakened to see a forest’s canopy above him. He rolled over onto his side and winced. His body ached from head to foot, but he hoisted himself up anyway. He was not alone in Mirella’s garden. Before him stood a tall godly figure who looked not unlike Odin in many ways, but he was softer, fair-haired, more fatherly, and clothed in animal furs and leathers—a god who ruled nature, but held a soft spot for all creatures great and small. A short ways beyond the garden a horse-sized golden-bristled boar rooted in the leafy undergrowth noisily—Gullinbursti, the god’s mount.

“Freyr, I presume,” Loki bowed his head ever so slightly. “I thank you for your help,” he added almost begrudgingly.

“Loki, son of Odin the All-father of Asgard,” Freyr’s voice was indeed fatherly, but his tone suggested he could praise or scold equally with ease. More like Odin than I thought. “I should have expected to meet you one day, though I wish it could have been under less stressful circumstances.” He raised his eyebrows and wiggled the staff, L’Shale.

“Mirella,” Loki said her name with irritation. She had sacrificed herself to rebind L’Shale and save his life.  How could she be so senseless? Surely there was another way. He glanced around the garden for her and found her lifeless body reposed upon the fallen log. Vines and leaves already covered her fragile limbs—a withered flower returning to the earth naturally.

Freyr seemed to read Loki’s thoughts, “It was the only way, Loki. Do not judge her for her choice to save you. She held a lot of respect for your abilities. And you are meant to see greater lessons in life yet before it is your time to die.” He gave Loki a knowing smile as cryptic as his foretelling.

Loki’s voice perked with interest, “And how would you know that? We’ve only just met.”

“Many of us gods can sense the fate of all living things—a god’s intuition, perhaps. Some of us can use it more adeptly than others.”

Every muscle in Loki’s body felt bruised and stiff—he wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious—but he moved slowly toward Mirella’s figure on the overgrown log. He picked up a stray leaf that had landed on her face and examined it idly. His expression was tight, betraying no outward emotion. Forgive me if I do not mourn for you, but you have my thanks as well. I can’t help but judge your actions unnecessary no matter the opinion of your god.

Freyr crossed the garden to join him. “I am sorry you encountered L’Shale after his corruption. If only you could have known him in his youth as I did...” Freyr wistfully looked off toward the mountain range in the distance and held up the staff to admire its lump of granite. “His heart was not always so envious and hateful. L’Shale was a young mountain spirit once, but his power-hungry heart sought more than the solid foundations bestowed upon him. Over long years his jealousy compressed within him to form a burning hatred, and the only path he saw was to erupt. Forests and lives were lost to waves of molten rock. I could abide his hatred no longer and bound him to this staff. The mountain farthest to the west is all that remains of his shell—a dormant volcano. L’Shale saw in you a kindred spirit, a soul filled with jealousy and hatred. He sought control of your mind for his own gains. Much as you sought the staff for your own gains. Two peas in a pod, eh?“ Freyr gave a chuckle, but Loki was not amused. This god and his sorry excuse for humor...

“What will become of the staff?”

“It will be kept safe,” Freyr gave Loki a wry smile, “But should it find its way into greedy hands again, L’Shale will stay as dormant as his former home. Ah, I believe your escort has arrived.” Freyr motioned with L’Shale to the other side of the garden. Loki turned to see Odin and groaned under his breath.

“Greetings, Freyr,” Odin spoke briskly, but not impolitely. “I’ve come for my son, if you are done with him. I trust all has been set right with...L’Shale, wasn’t it?”

“My heart warms to see you, Odin,” Freyr smiled broadly and reached out to embrace Odin. Odin was a little stiff, but he allowed himself to be hugged—a warrior accepting a hug from a druid was quite a sight. “Yes, cousin,” Odin flinched at the familial address. They were not actual cousins—more like friendly rivals. “L’Shale has been rebound to the staff, and your son will be right as rain with a little rest. His mental abilities are very exceptional.”

Loki stopped listening to the conversation between Odin and Freyr. There were too many thoughts rolling over in his mind. Mirella died—willingly—to save me. Why? How much hatred was my own and how much came from L’Shale? Why do I seek control of others? Is it not folly to put trust in others? Why am I no longer satisfied to rely only upon myself? Why am I bothered by the death of a foolish Fae? So many questions.

“Loki, my son, we must return to Asgard,” Odin clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You must be judged.”

Loki nodded Freyr farewell and glanced around Mirella's garden one last time before forming a gateway back home to Asgard. His hand brushed the hedge that marked her garden as he and Odin left, the forest just a sea of brown.

********

Loki took them back to the throne room in Asgard’s palace. Thor was there to meet them, obviously no longer influenced by the glamour. His face was weary, but concerned. "I do not know what you did, brother, but I am glad it is over. I felt as if I was trapped inside a nightmare. I doubted myself at every turn and felt as helpless as a babe."

Loki responded to his brother with a silent gaze that betrayed none of the thoughts and concerns which occupied him. Instead Loki gave in to his weariness and sank to his knees in the middle of the great hall. He maintained his emotionless silence, the day’s events replaying and remixing in his mind. ...a kindred spirit...soul filled with jealousy and hatred...layers of cold and darkness...stay strong...you are meant to see greater lessons...

Odin paced in front of Loki, his voice commanding and objective, “Loki Odinson—” Loki spared Odin a glance at the address, “you are my son as much as Thor even if you do not choose to acknowledge it—you have abused your friends and loved ones for your own selfish gains. My own heart clouded my judgment when I allowed you to stay in Asgard for guidance. I now see that you will not accept that guidance. Perhaps you will choose a wiser path on your next trip to Midgard.”

Loki’s head sank, and he sighed. He had anticipated this judgment from Odin, but in a way he was intrigued by it. A different sort of challenge, perhaps, but it should be simple enough. Why would she sacrifice herself to save me? Surely she understood me after looking through so much of my life. Why sacrifice yourself for a selfish, greedy stranger from another realm? She had nothing to gain...

“You may return to Asgard once you have demonstrated a sincere understanding of compassion—to alleviate the undue suffering of others rather than cause it. Until then, you will live as a mortal. You are hereby exiled until I judge you fit to return to us."

Odin’s words clicked in Loki’s thoughts, bringing together a line of logic that could only make sense to Loki. Of course...the Fae helped me to gain favor with Freyr. Who knows what status she may reincarnate with now. But the voice became smaller, anguished. No...I cannot fool myself. She really did care for me. The capacity matters not, but she did care. Thank you, Mirella. I was the fool, not you.

Loki nodded solemnly and closed his eyes, accepting the judgment in silence. For a moment he imagined an Asgard where he did not have so much emotional baggage—a place where he could stand by his brother faithfully and his father was proud of him—but that world did not exist. It changes nothing to dwell on fancies. Here and now is all there is no matter how much I wish to change the past. I shall find a way home—one way or another.

And then the world was black. It was nighttime in Midgard.