Pyramid Power: Chapter Fifteen

    “Magic has bound him. Magic has to be the way to free him,” said Jerry. “And as you two can’t do it, it does depend on me. Magic isn’t exactly my field of expertise. I was looking for some advice.”

    “And there I thought you were a gifted practitioner of Seid,” said Loki, mockingly.

    “Shut up, Loki,” said Sigyn, with the amiability of a wife who has said this very often. “The mortal comes from another place and time. He is ignorant of many things. He probably doesn’t even know what Seid is.”

    “Um. No. Actually, I don’t.”

    “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’, Sigi,” said Loki, ruefully. “Seid, Jerry, is a magical art practiced by Odin, and by women, because it would be a dishonorable thing for men.”

    Jerry raised an eyebrow. “But okay for Odin?”

    “Well,” said Loki. “He is the oathbreaker. Maybe he feels no need of such honor.”

    If Jerry had it right that was an insult of rare order for one of the Norse.

    “Maybe he’s just a bearded lady,” said Jerry lightly.

    He sat down rapidly. He had to. Loki was making the floor shake with his laughter. Sigyn was laughing too, so much so that she was actually crying.

    Jerry tried to work this one out. Someone had once said to him that the Norse had been a homophobic culture, and argued that was what accounted for the disdain in which Loki was held for his various cross-sexual shape changes. He’d been the mare that had lured the giant builder’s stallion away, causing the giant to lose his deal on the building of Asgard’s giant-proof walls. The result was Odin’s eight legged horse.

    That was a less than clinching argument, Jerry thought, given that Odin still seemed pretty keen on the horse. But one thing was certain: Women were second-class citizens in the honor stakes—hence allowed to use this “Seid”—and honor was everything in this social milieu. The image of the master of Asgard as a bearded lady obviously had appeal.

    “If only I had thought of that when I gave the Æsir their flyting,” said Loki. “I mocked them well, but that’s a rich insult. For that and that alone I would give you what help I can. But not with Seid. There are other arts.”

    Jerry looked at the tear on the cheek of Sigyn—and began to put it all together.

    “I think…”

    “No! Thor did that once and his head caught fire,” said Loki mischievously.

    “I thought you were going to help me?” said Jerry, head askance. You got the feeling that once Loki got into this frame of mind he would only stop… too late. Best stop him before he started.

    “Ah. A point,” admitted Loki, readily… too easily, contrite. “What help can I be?”

    Jerry turned to Sigyn. “Lady Sigyn. Would you give me some of your tears?”

    She blinked, and touched her cheek. “You are less ignorant of magical things than you would have us think, Jerry.”

    The secondary symbolism of tears, especially tears of laughter, liberating things, had not occurred to Jerry until that moment. He’d actually been thinking of salty water. And rust. But Norse mythology and poetry was full of multiple symbolism, so their magic was bound to be also

    Jerry collected some of Sigyn’s tears onto a quarter he found in his pocket. It wasn’t a lot of liquid, but it would have to do—since the only other possible container was being used to catch snake-venom.

    He wanted all the elements of rapid oxidation: salty water, heat, and rust itself. He felt around for the thongs that had tied him. Symbolic again, if he could get them to burn again by sticking them in the fire.

    Rust… well, rust would just have to be rust. Ideally it should have come from a broken shackle, but rust would affect everything. He’d just paint it in that shape. And the Futhark…

    The runes had each had meanings, evolving much as hieroglyphics had into hieratic script. “I need the runes for water and time—or days. And chants. You can tell me who to appeal to.”

    “A good sorcerer in the making,” said Loki. “Vidólf was the mother of all witches, Svarthöfdi the father of sorcerers. And Sigyn will show you Dagaz and Laguz, the runes for water and days.”

    She scratched them out.

    “This one is ‘day.’ And this one is ‘water’.”

    “Years?” asked Jerry.

    She showed him another, and then added a fourth. “And this one is ‘Ansuz,’ which could be useful too.”

    She said the last with an absolutely straight face. Even Jerry, normally oblivious to hints, could catch an elephant like that. He began to draw the runes, scratched into the rust on the iron bonds. A great many years. And fair amount of water, drawn with tear-wetness, and, using the burned ends of the thong, the symbol Ansuz. He hoped that it would give him some, and that he wasn’t just being stupid. But Loki’s silence was telling. The mischief-god was the original motormouth. He was so quiet it was hard to tell if he was even breathing. And both he and Sigyn were staring with a fierce intensity at Jerry.

    Jerry just hoped his that hair wouldn’t catch fire before it was all done. To judge by the sagas, the spells would be in verse. Probably sung…

    Well, he’d better pass on that part. His singing was good—if compared to Liz’s. She sang in the bath. Fortunately, he’d never really liked the tiles in that room anyway.

    “Svarhöfdi, spell master,

    Dagaz passing ever faster,

    Make us Vidolf wise,

    reduce and oxidize

    Rust!

    Laguz, tears sweet and salt

    mix with iron, mend the fault

    Blood tie broken be by water

    liberation from the child’s slaughter.

    Rust!

    Rust consume, heat, eat and devour

    Iron bonds as if the second was an hour

    turn pure metal to our side

    Make of it an iron oxide

    Rust!”

    It was lousy poetry, but not too bad for the spur of the moment.

    He took the little pocket diary, which was now thicker than it used to be since vellum was thicker than paper, and was inscribed with runes. He used his thumb to flick the pages over—a symbolic passage of days. The smoldering thong burst into flames, and somehow water dripped from the runes he’d painted.

    The iron that bound Loki flaked red. And flaked again. And burst with erupting splinters of rust.

    Loki sat up suddenly with a small crow of delight, his bonds falling into red dust. “Free! Free at last. Let Asgard quake!”

    Now his eyes blazed with a truly inhuman glee, which, as he definitely wasn’t human, was as it should be. It was also rather alarming, when you were stuck in a hole with him that wasn’t more than twenty by twenty feet wide.

    Sure enough, his first act showed that even by accident Loki’s thoughtlessness was a danger to himself and everyone else. He hugged Sigyn—and nearly upset the bowl of venom over the two of them.

    “Careful!” Sigyn shrieked, trying to hold the slopping bowl away from the two of them and nearly dousing Jerry instead.

    Loki backed off, and then ducked because the snake spat at his face. The serpent, heretofore almost dormant except for the dripping venom, was coming to life. Loki tripped over the slabs he’d been bound to, and fell flat on his back.

    “He hasn’t changed much,” said Sigyn, smiling broadly.

    To prove that he could still change, the god blurred—and a mouse skittered across the floor.

    That was too much for the snake. When it had last had a tasty mouse? Even a mouse with Loki-eyes?

    It flung itself off the rock shelf and down onto the pit-floor; then, across the floor at the mouse-prey. Jerry desperately looked for something to deal with the huge snake. Why did Loki have to be some damned precipitate? Jerry was sure that, if he could work out spells to deal with iron bonds, he could have come up with something for snakes.

    The snake struck. It struck so hard that it hit the wall, and bounced back slightly stunned.

    It had missed its prey, which was surprising in a way, because the prey was now a lot larger. The hawk still had Loki’s eyes. It also had its talons dug firmly into the snake’s neck, just behind the head. Sigyn calmly stepped onto the snake’s tail as the snake attempted to lash that up and around the hawk.

    Loki changed again, back into himself. He was still holding the snake behind the head. Now, with the other hand he grasped it behind Sigyn’s foot, and held it aloft. He grinned at them. “Roast snake, anyone?”

    “You might tell me next time,” said Jerry, keeping a good safe distance.

    Loki shrugged, still smiling. “It is that way with me, I’m afraid, my sorcerer friend. I tend to act first and think later. It has gotten me into a fair amount of trouble over the years.”

    That was in character, Jerry supposed. Trouble and Loki would never be that far apart. The secret was to avoid having trouble with Loki when he turned nasty.

    Sigyn shook head ruefully. “That is true enough. Now what are you going to do with that snake?”

    “Spit in its eyes?” suggested Loki.

    “Dash its brains out,” said the more practical Sigyn.

    “I thought I might save it and put down Skadi’s front,” said Loki evilly.

    “Huh. She’d probably enjoy that. They’re her pets, Loki. Kill it and be done with it.”

    He did, with a whip-crack. He used the snake itself as a the whip, which was singly effective if not something Jerry ever wanted to try himself. Uncle Fox was a lot stronger than he looked. He could have broken the bonds had they just been made of iron, and not magic.

    “Now why don’t you transform yourself and fly out and drop us a rope?” suggested Jerry, as if such shape-changing was something he saw every day. That was one thing about the mythworlds—you became quite numb to the impossible.

    “A good thought,” said Loki, blurring again. The hawk flew upwards… and stopped.

    Loki dropped down. “Not quite so easy. And not knowing the nature of the spell Odin has set there will make it harder. Oh, well. Roast snake while we wait for Skadi? She won’t be long, now that her pet is dead.”

    “Better that you go and lie on the slabs again and pretend to still be bound,” said Sigyn.

    Loki nodded. “I’ll put the snake back on the rock-shelf, and lie in wait for our huntress.” He looked at Jerry. “You’d better contrive some kind of binding for the bitch, friend sorcerer.”

    “And take cover,” said Sigyn. “She’s nearly as strong as Thrúd.”

    Jerry sincerely wished that he could follow either instruction. There really wasn’t any cover, and as for a binding…

    Loki plainly wanted him to come up with some kind of magic, and right now his mind was a perfect blank. All he could think of was how nice some handcuffs and secure cell would be. He could have hidden in the cell.

    True to Sigyn’s prediction, Skadi was not long in coming. And the giantess daughter of Thjazi was not a small woman. Actually, she wouldn’t have been a small man, either. She took one look at her snake and reached into her girdle—for another.

    Sigyn gave her a bowl full of venom right in the eyes.

    And then things got really ugly.

    Skadi plainly couldn’t see. She was screaming, both in pain and rage. Neither stopped her from attacking them. There wasn’t a lot of room to dodge. Loki attempted to grab her, and got himself knocked back against the wall. Sigyn threw the empty bowl at her head and it shattered. That didn’t seem to give Skadi any pause at all. Loki grabbed the dead snake and flung it around her neck and started trying to throttle her with it. Skadi grabbed the snake also and was doing her best to pull it off her neck. The snake from her girdle had escaped and was now cornering Sigyn. The two fighters had staggered close to the fire, and were now standing next to it. Which one would win—or whether the body of the snake would give first—was a moot question. The snake certainly was no normal creature or it would already have been torn in half.

    Jerry searched desperately for a way to intervene. All he saw were some pottery shards. And the fact that Skadi the huntress was wearing top-boots—quite wide at their top—and she was right next to the fire.

    Using two scraps of the broken bowl, Jerry scraped up some of the coals and poured them into one of her boots. Then, hastily, he did the second boot. Skadi was too busy straining at the snake to notice. Smoke started coming out of her boots, and Jerry shoveled a second load in, for want of any better idea.

    The dead snake broke. Loki tumbled backwards and Skadi suddenly realized that her feet were on fire. First she danced frantically, in the process stepping on her live snake—which latched its fangs into her leg. She sat down hard, grabbed the snake and flung it at the wall—narrowly missing Sigyn. Then she tore at her boots, hauling them off, scattering coals.

    But Loki had seen enough. Grinning like a fiend he took a whole handful of live coals and poured them down the back of her neck. His hands seemed completely impervious to their heat.

    Skadi jerked backwards and Loki assisted her with a mighty shove. Her head hit the floor with an audible crack. She lay still for a moment, before she rolled over screeching, pulling her smoldering dress away from her body and standing up to scatter more coals. She stood on a coal, yowled, leapt backwards, and tripped over Loki’s prison-slab. She landed with an even louder crack. This time, before she could move, Sigyn was onto her, pressing a sharp fragment of pottery to her throat. “Lie still, bitch, or you will die right here.”

    Blinded, stunned, snake-bitten, and obviously in a lot of pain, Skadi moaned weakly—but did not move. How could she know it was just a piece of pot? Jerry actually felt a little sorry for her. She had tortured Loki for centuries, so Loki and Sigyn plainly had a grudge. On the other hand, Loki did tend to bring things on himself.

    Skadi was a fairly minor and obscure member of the Norse pantheon, and Jerry didn’t know much about her. But the way Skadi was reacting to the pottery shard that she couldn’t see, and his memory of the most famous binding in Norse myth had given Jerry an idea. What was it that the chain that bound the Fenrir wolf was supposed to be made of? Ingredients such as the sound of a cat’s footfall and a fish’s breath. If he could fool this giantess that she was under duress of similar intangible bonds…

    “Hold the knife steady, Lady Sigyn,” said Jerry, as calmly as he could. “It wants but a few more chants and scratching of the runes until we have her bound with the invisible net.”

    “Will it hurt her?” asked Sigyn, in a voice which said that she wanted it to.

    “Not unless she moves,” said Jerry. “If she stays still, it will feel as light as the finest cloth. But the more she struggles, the tighter it will bind. It is woven from the teeth of birds, moonlight gathered at noon and the…”

    Inventiveness failed him, The best he could come up with was “tomb dust from an ancient king,” and hope that Skadi was hadn’t read much Gothic horror.

    “Who is that?” Skadi’s said through gritted teeth. “Curse you…”

    Loki held a coal close to her cheek. Not quite touching but close enough for her to feel the heat. “Now, now,” he said in a mockingly cheerful voice. “You wouldn’t want to make a sorcerer powerful enough to undo Odin’s works angry, would you? He already conjured up hot coals to help you dance. It is a shame that you are so clumsy that you fell over. I would lie very still and silent in case he decided to do worse.” He took her knife from her girdle—a precaution they should have thought of earlier—and toyed with it.

    “Sorcerer?” said Skadi, digesting that. She didn’t seem the quickest thinker around, but then she’d been through some harsh treatment in the last few minutes.

    “Of course, Skadi. A very powerful one. How else do you think I am free? Yes, Loki is free, and Fimbulwinter begins,” he said savagely. “Now, while my sorcerer spins his magics, I will ask you to give me the galdr. I need the chant to see me free of this place.”

    “You will not get it from me,” she said with savage satisfaction. “Odin is more powerful now. He won’t need Thor and Heimdall to catch you any more, father of lies.”

    “That is an interesting description coming from you. Njörd would be impressed to hear of your honesty, adulteress.”

    Skadi snarled. “Hel take you, Loki.”

    “I hope so. She is my daughter, after all,” he said, quite urbanely. “Now, tell me the galdr.”

    “I’d rather die.”

    “That can be arranged, Skadi,” said Loki grimly. “Not quickly of course, but it can be arranged.”

    Skadi sniffed. “Then you will never get out.”

    “I still have my sorcerer. He has defeated Odin’s Seid runes. He may get us out. Why not reach a bargain? When Ragnarok comes, you are one of the giants. One of my kin. If I win… I will let you free. Or Odin may come looking for you. Otherwise, you are dead.”

    She was silent for a while. “I suppose so,” she said at last. “Vegtamr Gungnir Fjallar. Nine times.”

    Loki shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “You won’t mind my holding the knife to your throat while I say it then, will you?” he said his voice full of a gentle irony.

    Skadi ground her teeth.

    “I know the names of One-eye better than you do,” said Loki. “Try again. Or I’ll have such a spell put on you that Lumpy himself would not fancy you. Your face and eyes may heal, but there’ll be no going back from this curse.”

    She ground her teeth again, and clutched at the pouch from whence she’d pulled the replacement snake. Loki raised an eyebrow and cut the strap with her knife. She moved as he plucked it away. “Uh-uh! Hold still now.” The shard of pottery pressed harder… and a spot of blood appeared.

    Loki drew out a small bottle made of hammered metal. “A potion. And what do we do with this? Drink it? Of course if something goes wrong it would be very sad for Skadi.”

    “A drop on the eyelid,” she said sullenly. Loki nodded, unstoppered it, and wet the tip of his finger and put it to his eye. “Ah,” he said. “So the galdr was a feint. Still, we shall have to put a stop to that summoning spell. Sorcerer, can you weave that into your net-spell.”

    “I have done so already,” said Jerry, taking his handkerchief and putting it over her face.

    “Now can I kill her?” asked Sigyn.

    “I’m afraid not,” said Loki. “I am not an oathbreaker like Helblindi. Let her enjoy my prison. There is a hidden ladder here we can climb. Let me put a drop of this on your eyelids.”

    When he’d done so, Jerry found himself looking at a rope ladder. Sigyn examined it carefully. “You first, husband. If you get away you can always come back for us. And this one had no part in the killing of my sons, so I will forgo my vengeance… on her. For now. But not so with the others.”

    Loki grabbed the ladder. “Not so with the others,” he said, as he began to climb.

    “After you, Lady Sigyn,” said Jerry, although the last thing he wanted was to be stuck alone with a giantess trapped under a handkerchief.

    She shook her head. “It would not be seemly. And I think you should take her boots.” Jerry looked at his one stockinged foot and did—taking very good care to shake out the boots first.

    They were at least three sizes too large for him. And rope ladders turned out to be a lot harder to climb than he’d been led to believe by Indiana Jones.

    Sigyn followed, and they hauled the ladder up, and began making their way cautiously along the rock-hewed corridor.

    “It’s to be hoped that that is a powerful spell-net you’ve cast on Skadi,” said Loki, quietly.

    “Um,” said Jerry. “It’s… uh, well, it’s just a piece of cloth. Not a spell-net. Not a spell at all. She just thinks it is.”

    Loki stopped dead in his tracks, and grinned wickedly. “It might make getting away more dangerous—but, oh, what a tale! The skalds will love that one. It’s a trick worthy of the greatest of tricksters! If only I’d thought of it first.”

    “Don’t worry,” said Jerry, “they’ll probably blame it on you anyway.”

    The Krim device’s computational circuitry was proof that even Moore’s law must have an end somewhere, whether it is by postscription or in the ability of computing power to double. Right now it was going through several iterations of probability planning… and meeting the unexpected. The gods of the Ur -mythworlds that the Krim had parasitized before were less recalcitrant than these ones. It offered a renewal of power—an irresistible bait, or one that if resisted, simply meant the mythworld was heading into a slow spiral of fading down to extinction. But the labor in this world was hard to control.

    And very frighteningly self-willed.