The Ragnarok Trials

Day Seventeen: Gymnopedies No. 1

Day Seventeen
         Gymnopedies No. 1
Focus Word: Reason
Word Count: 1908

Once upon a time, I had children.

There were three of them that mattered, though no doubt others wandered the world, the result of one too many liaisons with one too many women (and men, for that matter). As I've mentioned, Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse of Odin, is my child, but he is not one of the three that really, in the end, matter. No, there were precisely three that mattered, and it is of them that I speak.

First is Hel, the goddess of her own underworld. My poor Hela, so devastating in her unfortunate appearance, punished for the crime of being an unbeautiful goddess. Banished from our realm to the land of the Inglorious Dead, where dwelt the lazy and the apathetic in life. It was she who granted Baldur a chance to be reborn, she who felt pity in her heart for the handsome God of Light, so perfect even in death. There were those who believed she conspired with me to trick all of them, that her apparent warmth--so rare, so unexpected--was a ruse. They saw me in her face, heard my lies on her lips, and blamed her for my sins.

My poor little Hel, so beautiful in her own way. So ugly by ours, with half-dead skin and gangrenous legs, blue down half of her body. With such a big, strong, loving heart in her chest.

She elected to die when Christ gave us our flesh. She couldn't bear to be trapped forever in dying flesh, never knowing love, never knowing any human warmth. My poor Hel, she couldn't bear the weight of human woes, the feel of human emotions, the lack of which had been all that kept her going all those years.

The first of my beloved children dead.

The second and the third, Fenrir and Jörmungandr, were beasts. Fenrir, the great wolf, and Jörmungandr, the Midgard serpent, who grew so long he wrapped around the entire world. Thor made of him an enemy, and hunted him. All for the sport of bringing down the mighty serpent who could swallow his tail. It was said that, come Ragnarok, Thor would finally slay my middle son, and walk only nine steps before falling dead, poisoned by his own victim. Thus, with his death, would he avenge himself.

It was prophesied that Fenrir would bring nothing but horror to the world. All the gods came together to lock him up, to chain him forever, to name him the signal, the omen bringer, the final gate of Ragnarok. When Fenris broke his chains, so too would the world break. It would be my son, the great wolf, my child that would kill Odin and in turn die, slain by Odin's son. My youngest child, my wonderful wild beast.

Both punished for being naught but what they were: my children. Odin took them from me, from my wife, and banished them from my world along with their sister, my beautiful Hela.

My sons are dead now, too, gone forever from this world. Christ could not save them; could not allow a giant serpent and a wild wolf to continue existing, even bound in flesh. It is said that Christ cried at their deaths, to so destroy something simply because he had no choice but to allow them to die. It is said that my brethren cheered, to see their eternal enemies finally laid low.

I was not there when they died. I could not soothe their fears as they faded into nothing, losing themselves forever as belief in them disappeared around the world. I could not even fight to save them, could not convince Christ to spare even my daughter, who died for lack of beauty.

Thus, the second and the third are dead, along with the first. And the rest...the rest do not even speak to me. The rest do not live in this God Town, likely run out for the crime of being my child. I do not know where they are anymore. But they live, and that must be enough for me. The others, my bestial, wild children...they are gone. And I am all that remains of them.

I wonder if this is punishment for my sins. After all, I called Odin blood brother. Odin, who took my children from me and locked them away--tossed into the wild seas, chained and alone, locked into a gloomy underworld with naught but the most apathetic of souls--and then called me friend when I did good deeds for him. To whom I freely gave another of my children to ride, as befitted a King of Gods. He took my children, my flesh and my divine blood, and yet I called him brother!

This, then, is my children's revenge. To feel as they must have felt, so long ago, when the gods turned their back on them and I did nothing but worm my way into their favor. This is the ultimate betrayal.

To be abandoned and tossed aside by a loved one, from whom you would expect steadfast and stolid defense. This is the ultimate punishment. This is the punishment I suffer now, trapped away in my room, waiting for the sun to reach the horizon and Michael to come and kill me.

This is how it ends, then. Abandoned, tossed aside, punished for nothing but being hated.

This is how I die.

Gabriel would not speak to me. When Odin left, I'd gathered my senses and walked into the living room, determined to get him to see reason. For thirty minutes, I had brought up every fact we understood about the case, I'd walked him through every step I'd made, reminded him that even Odin believed in my innocence, how the evidence pointed in every direction but mine. I'd screamed at him, begging him to see reason, to see past his hurt and his willful belief in my guilt. I'd fallen to my knees, tears streaming down my face, and pleaded with everything I had for his forgiveness. For him to once again believe in my innocence.

The Angel had done nothing but turn away, face hard as stone, and say nothing. And I had returned to my room to await my trial.

There was nothing I could do. I'd determined that long ago, my mind racing through every possibility. I was being framed, and the job was so seamless, so perfect and elegant, that I could see no way around it. By the end of the day, I would be dead, and my enemies would have everything they ever wanted.

And I...well, not only would I be dead, I would be gone forever. I no longer belonged to my kind, and so Valhalla waited not for me. And I could not go to Heaven, for I was neither human, nor Angel. And Hell, the realm of fire and pain that had stolen my daughter's name, all that remained in his world of her, was not open to Old Gods. Only human souls in need of punishment could go there, first to be castigated, wiped clean and then, eventually, sent up to Christ's embrace in Heaven. Which was, as I said, barred to me.

So to nothingness I would go. Where awaited my children, lost and gone forever. Where now my soul would go, as if I had never existed.

I wanted so much to see my children, then. My wonderful Hela, my wild Fenrir and steadfast Jörmungandr. They had loved me, in their own way, and I them. They would have supported me now, in their own way. My Hela would have done anything to free me, to free her beloved Father. She would have followed the wonderfully kind heart that had long ago let her down. She would not have hated me, despite everything I had done to her.

And I had done so much to my daughter...my poor, misunderstood, misbegotten daughter, who should have been beautiful and wasn't. My daughter, punished for my sins. She would not abandon me now, as Gabriel had.

And my sons, who would give their everything to free me, even their lives. My fierce Fenrir, who bit off Tyr's hand as the god locked him away. My dangerous Jörmungandr, who would poison the sky if it meant seeing me free. I wanted to see them, too. If only to see love in someone's eyes once more, if only to beg for their forgiveness. To apologize for abandoning them when they needed me most.

To beg for their existence in any way, so that I might see them. So that they might stand with me as Michael's sword fell and the world went dark around me.

It was only a few hours until the trial, and I had already dressed in my best. I'd returned to the suit I'd worn for Baldur's wake, figuring it was more than good enough as a funereal suit. I figured that I might as well look good when I died, even if there would be no one waiting on the other side for me.

I wondered what death would be like. I'd never actually done it before, not even to check it out. Oh, I'd been to the underworld--my daughter lived there, after all--but I had never experienced it as a soul who'd departed the world above. I knew it would hurt, a little bit, as Michael's sword bit into my flesh, but I wondered if it wouldn't be a little bit like finally getting a good night's sleep. A rest that lasted forever, peaceful and never-ending.

Gone forever, and so never to worry ever again. Never to hurt again, or to cry, or suffer, or fear. Or, for that matter, to love, to laugh and run, to feel the rushing of adrenaline through your veins when you finally solved a mystery or everything finally clicked into place. Never again the feel of orgasm or attraction or the gentle grasp of a child's hand about your finger. I would feel none of these things.

I would feel nothing ever again.

No, no I told myself, rising from my bed. I would not allow myself to go this way. I would go to my trial and I would prove myself innocent. I would prove to my kind and to the universe that I, Loki Lie-smith, one-time Norse Trickster God, was clear of any crime, innocent of any charge, free to choose my life and to live as I saw fit.

Tugging on my coat, I crossed my room, reaching for the door. I would go out there and tell Gabriel, straight-faced and sober, that I was innocent of any charge and meant to prove it before my kind and all the Angels, and even God Himself if need be. Smiling grimly to myself, I opened the door.

And there was Michael, frightening and powerful in his glorious intensity. I fell to my knees as pain washed over me in waves, clutching my stomach and weaving its way around every bone and through every muscle. The Angel was grim, his eyes dark and cold as they alighted upon me. I do not know what he was thinking, but I could swear I saw some sorrow there. Perhaps Michael was not so keen on killing me, after all.

"Loki, Old God of Lies, you are to come with me. It is time to begin your trial."

Oh God, I am going to die.