Loki: Journey Into Mystery Prose Novel E-Book

Katherine Locke

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 446

Beschreibung

This truly epic adaptation of Kieron Gillen's Loki series spans the nine realms as the reborn trickster struggles to walk the hero's path and save the universe from an epidemic of fear. The god of lies has been reborn, but will young Loki be Asgard's savior? When Earth is plagued by an epidemic of fear, ancient prophecy says only Thor can stop the monstrous threat of the Serpent, but without help from Loki, Thor is certain to fail. Aided by a handmaiden from Hel and a demon puppy, Loki must risk everything to find redemption—or doom himself for eternity. Either way, a Nightmare lies in wait hoping to rule the world and Loki will have to risk everything on his craziest scheme of all! Meanwhile, new gods threaten to disrupt the status quo, throwing everything out of balance. Loki must act as a responsible ambassador, but will the nine worlds end in Surtur's fire? In this brand-new prose novel inspired by the epic comic series by Kieron Gillen, young Loki must cross the realms to reclaim his own story, outwit ancient enemies, struggle to do the right thing, and avoid falling in love.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Part I Fear Itself

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Part II Fear-Stuff

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Part III The Manchester Gods

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Part IV Everything Burns

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Acknowledgments

About the Author

NOVELS OF THE MARVEL UNIVERSE BY TITAN BOOKS

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Avengers: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Dan Abnett

Avengers: Infinity by James A. Moore

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Black Panther: Who is the Black Panther? by Jesse J. Holland

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Captain Marvel: Liberation Run by Tess Sharpe

Captain Marvel: Shadow Code by Gilly Segal

Civil War by Stuart Moore

Deadpool: Paws by Stefan Petrucha

Guardians of the Galaxy: Annihilation by Brendan Deneen

Morbius: The Living Vampire – Blood Ties by Brendan Deneen

Secret Invasion by Paul Cornell

Spider-Man: Forever Young by Stefan Petrucha

Spider-Man: Kraven’s Last Hunt by Neil Kleid

Spider-Man: The Darkest Hours Omnibus by Jim Butcher, Keith R.A. DeCandido, and Christopher L. Bennett

Spider-Man: The Venom Factor Omnibus by Diane Duane

Thanos: Death Sentence by Stuart Moore

Venom: Lethal Protector by James R. Tuck

Wolverine: Weapon X Omnibus by Marc Cerasini, David Alan Mack, and Hugh Matthews

X-Men: Days of Future Past by Alex Irvine

X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga by Stuart Moore

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Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy: No Guts, No Glory by M.K. England

Marvel’s Midnight Suns: Infernal Rising by S.D. Perry

Marvel’s Spider-Man: The Art of the Game by Paul Davies

Obsessed with Marvel by Peter Sanderson and Marc Sumerak

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – The Art of the Movie by Ramin Zahed

Spider-Man: Hostile Takeover by David Liss

Spider-Man: Miles Morales – Wings of Fury by Brittney Morris

The Art of Iron Man (10th Anniversary Edition) by John Rhett Thomas

The Marvel Vault by Matthew K. Manning, Peter Sanderson, and Roy Thomas

Ant-Man and the Wasp: The Official Movie Special

Avengers: Endgame – The Official Movie Special

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Black Panther: The Official Movie Companion

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Thor: Ragnarok: The Official Movie Special

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LOKI: JOURNEY INTO MYSTERY

Print edition ISBN: 9781803362540

E-book edition ISBN: 9781803362557

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First edition: December 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

FOR MARVEL PUBLISHING

Jeff Youngquist, VP Production and Special Projects

Sarah Singer, Editor, Special Projects

Jeremy West, Manager, Licensed Publishing

Sven Larsen, VP, Licensed Publishing

David Gabriel, SVP of Sales & Marketing, Publishing

C.B. Cebulski, Editor in Chief

© 2023 MARVEL

Cover art by Stephanie Hans.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

PART I

FEAR ITSELF

ONE

ALL STORIES have beginnings.

The good ones don’t have endings.

In every world, stories are told. By gods or mortals, it doesn’t matter. Stories are currency. Stories are power. Stories are sustenance. Stories transcend.

Many millennia ago, I read a fairytale that began like this: Once there was where there was not.

This isn’t a fairytale. Not strictly speaking.

So, it doesn’t start like that.

It starts with birds.

YOU PROBABLY WEREN’T EXPECTING BIRDS, WERE YOU? SETTLE IN. I AM THE TELLER, AND EVEN I FOUND MYSELF SURPRISED BY THE EVENTS THAT FOLLOWED. EVEN THE UNFEATHERED ONES.

It starts with seven magpies. If you are lucky enough to live in a place without magpies, then here’s the thing to know about magpies: they are tricksters. They’re cleverer than most birds, even ravens and crows, small enough that they can fit into all sorts of places they shouldn’t, and craftier than a fox.

You may see where this is going. Because magpies could only be called to one god.

Seven magpies looked back at the remains of the destroyed Asgard. Loki had brought chaos and destruction to Asgard, and it’d ultimately been his own ending. Even those who didn’t feel for Loki, even those who’d been cheering for his demise, could still hear the echoes of his screams in their dreams. No one spoke about it, of course. There was nothing left for Loki except animosity.

No one knows what the magpies saw when they looked upon Asgard. Perhaps they were looking to see if Loki was truly dead. Perhaps they were waiting for a rebirth. Perhaps they were simply procrastinating, for the distance they had to travel was long and arduous. Seven took flight, but not all would make it.

The first magpie did not make it far before she was overcome with grief. Hollow bones can fill with grief and weigh a bird down like stones from her feet.

Every magpie’s grief is theirs to carry.

The others fly on.

The second magpie left after days at sea. The magpie knew that oceans are endless, and all oceans are one. He remembered a distant shore where he’d left one who made his heart flutter. Grief can look like searching for lost love too.

A third magpie was lost to Alfheim, where he stopped to feed on the eyes of a fallen elf girl. She’d been torn apart like an over-optimistic dream. Magpies were scavengers and he couldn’t bear to leave those eyes, so beautiful and open, staring up at an uncaring sky forever.

MAGPIES DO NOT LIKE TO THINK OF THEMSELVES AS SCAVENGERS. THEY THINK THEMSELVES ABOVE THE RAVENS AND THE CROWS OF THE WORLDS. THEY’RE CLEVERER, REMEMBER. AND SO THE OTHER MAGPIES CHATTERED DISMISSIVELY ABOUT THE THIRD, LEAVING HIM BEHIND IN DISGUST MORE THAN PITY. IT WOULD BE BEST IF YOU DID NOT TELL THEM THAT I CALLED THEM SCAVENGERS.

It was not long after they passed Alfheim that word reached the magpies that Thor had returned Loki to life, as a child.

The news struck the fourth magpie straight out of the sky. He plummeted to the earth and his final thought was, “What was the Odinson thinking?”

It wasn’t often that the magpies said something so universal, but there was hardly a soul who didn’t wonder the same.

Another magpie thought, “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” He didn’t have time to convince himself before he was shot with an arrow while passing through Hela’s Valhalla.

Collateral damage from Loki’s misdeeds, I suspect.

The sixth died in Hell. It would be best not to dwell on this one too long. It is gruesome, even for me.

It is important that you know about all the magpies, because now you understand what the seventh magpie survived. You see the distance and the flight, the internal and external dangers that this seventh magpie overcame. The seventh magpie did not fly on to his final destination quite yet. He made some stops along the way but that is neither here nor there. The important thing was, he made it, at last.

He turned for home.

This last magpie, he could not stop thinking about Loki and the choices he made. Why did he destroy Asgard? A good question. He suspected there was a logic there that he didn’t know. Maybe it’d make sense to someone else. Just not him. He didn’t like to admit this as he was a magpie, cleverer than most.

When the magpie returned to Asgard, he found that the heroes had won, as heroes are wont to do. The magpie had missed the triumph and he was a little peeved about that. They should have waited, he thought, though he knew they couldn’t. He’d flown for forty-nine days and nights, and seen worlds he’d never dreamt of seeing. He’d flown until he could fly no more. And now he was home.

He wished he was not the only magpie to deliver this secret, but the others had died or left him, and that was that.

The magpie fluttered into the window of a tower, ready to deliver the message.

But the young master Loki was not there.

*   *   *

AS FOR me, I came into this story because I was summoned. Because if a story goes untold, it hasn’t truly begun. OR, AT LEAST, THAT’S ONE WAY TO TELL THE TALE.

I was summoned, because that’s what foolish young gods do. They summon eldritch gods, the way they beckon their friends to come over and see what happens when they poke the alligator with the stick.

He poked me.

TWO

LOKI, DARK-HAIRED and bright-eyed, his jaw set in an all-too-familiar way, sat on a pile of rubble, scrolling through his phone with a frustrated twitch of his thumb. The comments section of his post was—well, just the way comment sections typically went. He’d posted a picture of himself in Asgard, throwing a peace sign.

Lensman47: Awesome. What filter is that?

There hadn’t been a filter on it. So, Loki said as much.

Lensman47 came back with a string of all-caps accusations, calling Loki a liar and a wannabe influencer. Three hundred and forty-two people had liked Lensman47’s comment.

Only one had liked Loki’s.

And it looked like a bot, so that didn’t really count.

“Even people online think I’m lying,” Loki muttered. “Why do people always assume that?”

A passing soldier spat on the ground. “You know why, you despicable weasel. What is that device, anyways?”

Loki scoffed, shoving the phone into his pocket. “I’d explain it to you, but I don’t have all day.”

He probably should have looked up before he said that. Because after he said it, and after he looked up, he reconsidered the tone of his voice. The soldier loomed over him, face darkening like a stormy sky.

“You helspawned lickspittle,” the soldier growled. “You brought Asgard nothing but ruin and sent many good souls to the pits—I am going to break you in half and feed you to the—”

“Is there a problem here?”

A familiar, soothing voice. Jealousy warred with relief in Loki at the sight of Thor walking around the corner, his stride long and purposeful. Loki tried to push the feelings away, the envy at his brother’s confidence and ease, the embarrassment that he still needed his brother’s rescue.

“Lord Thor, he was disrespectful,” the soldier stammered, trying to hold his position but clearly cowering in the presence of the God of Thunder.

A crowd gathered, people wandering by slowing when they saw Thor, and stopping when they saw the commotion involved Loki. They shifted, a murmuration of bodies, until they stood behind the soldier like a wall. Loki wasn’t even sure that they knew they’d chosen a side. Maybe it was instinctual. Whatever was happening, they wanted to be facing him, not standing behind him. Even him in this form. Not some past-Loki. The possibility soured his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Loki interjected quickly before Thor could ask for details, and before the crowd decided he was at fault. “I wasn’t thinking. And I’m tired and hungry. Hanger always makes me say regretful things.”

Thor looked like a smile might twitch at the corner of his mouth. “And do you accept this?”

The soldier did not want to accept it. He wanted to pummel Loki or throw him from the highest height in the ruins of Asgard. That much was clear to Loki and everyone else who’d gathered around. But this was Thor, and the soldier knew better. He bowed his head, accepting the apology, and beat a quick retreat.

Loki scrambled to his feet, dusting off his clothes. Thor waved dismissively at the crowd and they dissipated, slowly, and then quickly once they realized Thor wasn’t going to say anything more, and Loki wasn’t going to provide more antics.

Only when they were gone did Thor sigh and set a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “This will pass, Loki.”

Loki frowned at his feet. “I don’t know if it will. I’m not him. I’m me.”

“They know, it’s just hard for them to believe it. They will come around,” promised Thor. He didn’t have the right to promise it, but Loki felt his brother’s need for justice and optimism come through in the words. He might not have the right, or the ability, to make it so, but he’d try. If not for Loki, for whom he was responsible, but because this was who Thor was, right down to his core.

And Loki appreciated it. He needed that right now. The way the crowd stood around, siding with the soldiers, not ready to leap in to defend Loki being held accountable even for his past self’s crimes—that hurt. He belonged here. He wanted to be a part of Asgard.

“I know,” Loki lied. It came easily. It slipped off his tongue before he realized it.

“How did you get that phone? It’s Stark tech,” Thor said, reaching and tugging it out of Loki’s pocket.

“Merchants of Broxton,” Loki said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the Midgardian town. “I bought it.”

He instantly regretted telling the truth. The defensiveness seeped from his words and Thor noted it. His brother’s shoulders stiffened and he peered down at Loki suspiciously.

“And how did you pay for it?”

Loki did not want to lie again, even though the opportunity was right there. “With gold. They seemed pleased with the deal! I didn’t rip them off.”

Thor pursed his lips. “And how did you get the gold?”

“I got it off some dwarves.” Loki could see the next question on his brother’s tongue. “And before you ask, yes, we were gambling. See? I’m trying truthfulness!”

Thor pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Were you cheating when you gambled, Loki?”

“Okay, yes, but”—Loki raised his voice before Thor could interrupt him—“they were cheating too! Cheating was basically part of the game. I won unfairly, but in a game of who could win most unfairly!”

Thor looked as if he wanted to laugh, or cry, or walk into the sea. “I’m not sure I should approve.”

“You know what’s worse than cheating? The humans of the internet.”

“Are you reading the comments again? Stark says the first rule of the internet is never read the comments,” Thor reminded him.

“You know he reads all the comments about him, though,” Loki pointed out.

Thor tilted his head, conceding the point. “The humans are a frustrating people. But they are good. They are better than they know. And by coming together, we will build Asgard anew.”

Loki was a kid, but he was just as clever as always. Rather, he certainly believed he was. He knew that Thor was really talking about him when he was talking about the humans.

“Why did you buy a phone?” Thor asked, starting to walk back through the ruins. These had once been buildings, piles of rubble punctuated by columns that stuck up through the wreckage like flagpoles with no flags.

Loki scrambled through the boulders after him, wishing his brother’s legs weren’t as long as they were. Or rather, wishing that he, Loki, had the height to match his brother’s stride. What was the point of being half-giant if one did not come out the size of the half-giants?

“I want to learn. Mostly, I’ve learned that mortals like to—” He brought up a website and waved it in front of Thor’s face.

Thor took one look and winced. “That is not appropriate for someone of your age.”

“I knew that mortals liked to document everything pictorially but I did not realize that meant everything. I thought it was just their pets and their food, but it truly is everything,” Loki said excitedly. “Like all sorts of things I did not know you could share.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Thor said with a sigh.

They made their way to a road that wound its way along the river and up toward the fallen city. They stopped to look at it, and Loki felt pangs of regret even as he gazed upon a destruction he knew he did not cause.

The road swooped in toward main gates that had once stood taller than any of the most ancient buildings, but now those buildings were half-caved in, and the gates of the city had been utterly destroyed. Piles of stone and mortar. The rare and exotic plants that once grew alongside the gate wilted on their way to death. The only thing that marked the beginning of this once-majestic city was the narrowing of the road. Even from this distance, they could see people slowly sifting through rubble. They were no longer looking for survivors. Now they were simply trying to find the bottom of the destruction so they could rebuild. Wheelbarrows and wagonfuls of rock were hauled away. Dust clouded the city. Loki didn’t need to be down there to know that everyone’s faces were drawn and tired—people who had gone through a war, survived, and found it was still not over.

Thor must have read his mind because he ruffled Loki’s hair affectionately. “You are not as wicked as those mortals on the Stark phone, I think.”

“I’d have to try terribly hard to be that terrible,” Loki agreed, relieved that his brother had broken the silence.

Thor slung his arm around Loki’s shoulder. “They will learn, Loki, that you are you, and not past-Loki’s choices. But it will take time.”

Loki wanted to say that he didn’t want it to take time. It felt like wasted time, waiting for people to figure out what he already knew. But he didn’t argue with Thor any more than the average soldier did.

“I know,” he said. And it was only partly a lie.

*   *   *

LATER, THAT night, when Loki arrived back in his room, he found a magpie perched in the window, its beady eyes fixed on him. It’d been waiting for him, he was certain.

“Hello, Mr. Magpie,” he said cheerfully.

The bird opened his mouth and it sounded as if he were about to say Loki’s name, but instead he exploded, a disgusting slurry of feathers and bird guts splattering on the walls, all over Loki, and worse, over Loki’s books.

“Ugh,” muttered Loki, flicking entrails off his chest. “Gross.”

Where the magpie had sat was a key.

Loki couldn’t help himself. Who could have expected him to?

He picked up the key and accepted its silent quest.

It took him a while to find the chest in the basement that the key unlocked, and when it creaked open, dust floating around it, Loki peered inside with a peculiar mixture of anxiety and excitement. The chest was empty, save for another key.

This was the best kind of puzzle. No one made puzzles like this anymore: the kind that took cleverness and brains and brazenness to solve. He took that key and followed its clues. One mystery led to another, a path through the city, through tunnels and into towers, to the dwarves, and the elves, and back again.

And when he realized where the magpie’s clues were leading him, when he’d untangled the final rune of the final puzzle, when he watched the dot beneath the question mark on the page grow and grow until it swallowed the ground beneath his feet and he began to fall, he whispered, without any hint of deceit, “Oh. I know where I’m going.”

*   *   *

IT ISN’TA LIE IF IT ISN’T THE TRUTH BUT YOU DON’T KNOW IT YET.

THREE

AS SOON as Loki said he knew where he was going, the ground dropped out from beneath him. What was once a tower, a pile of books, torn papers, a key, magpie feathers, and the night sky of Asgard became nothingness around him. He tumbled head over heels as if he were falling through space and time itself, swinging his arms and legs out wildly in the hope of colliding with something to grab onto.

Loki hit the ground with a thunk, dust exploding up around him. He lay on his back, wheezing for a second, before he rolled over and sat up. Light glinted off metal, illuminating a small eerie space around him. He could see no walls, no tunnels, no paths. Nothing except the spot where he landed, and a helmet with curved horns on a pedestal, a magpie perched in the center.

Part of Loki hummed with excitement when he saw the magpie. It’d brought him a puzzle last time, and he’d solved it. What would it bring him this time?

But last time he’d been in his own territory. In Asgard. In a city he knew and loved, even if it did not love him.

He did not know where he was now.

He did not know what kind of puzzle could be solved if he did not know where he needed to go next.

He rose slowly. “Hello, Mr. Magpie.”

Again, he thought to himself.

Green meteors burst from the dark emptiness above, striking the ground around him. Loki threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the spray of rocks. The heat blistered his skin.

Loki, cast in green fire, loomed above him, nearly as tall as the tower from which Loki had fallen. His face was familiar but not the face that Loki had seen in the mirror. It was chiseled and aged, cut by sharp lines where the younger Loki had only seen smooth and round cheeks when he’d washed his face that morning.

“I am Loki,” boomed the Loki made of green fire. “Loki, whose whim brought Asgard crashing down. I am Loki, whose tongue was an anvil where the sharpest lies were forged. I am Loki, and I have things to say that you must know. I am Loki, who you must not trust.”

So his past self had a flare for the dramatic. The green fire around the base of the Past Loki seemed like overkill, but Young Loki wisely decided not to mention that.

“What are the chances?” he said loftily. “I’m Loki too. We should be the very best of friends.” He gestured around at the emptiness. “Where’d you bring me? What are you, precisely?”

“I am the echo of a scream. This room is hidden behind a whim, buried in a daydream, covered in bad thoughts and malice,” said Past Loki.

“You could have just said you didn’t know,” observed Young Loki.

This was the thing with young gods. Sometimes they thought of something clever, and they couldn’t resist saying it. The jibe slid from Loki’s tongue as easily as lies.

Past Loki scowled at the younger one. “It is a place that Thor would never locate.”

“I got that,” said Young Loki, “from the ‘covered in bad thoughts and malice’ part. Thor would never.”

“Would never what?” snapped Past Loki.

Young Loki shrugged, delighting in getting under Past Loki’s skin. “He just would never.”

“This place is my message from me to you,” said the specter.

“I feel like you could have just sent a letter, a text, an email. This is a little dramatic, don’t you think?” said Loki, glancing around. Then he shrugged. “Speak then, elder-self. I solved your riddle. I demand amusements.”

“Amusements?” Past Loki repeated.

But Young Loki didn’t want to explain amusements, or his tone, to this past Loki. He actually didn’t even want to be entertained. He wanted answers. Because this Loki was the reason he existed, yes, but also the reason of how he existed. The reason everyone around him thought he was a betrayer, the downfall of Asgard, someone not to be trusted, someone who wasn’t a good friend.

He straightened his shoulders. “Explain why you destroyed Asgard, but then sacrificed yourself to save it.”

“Is that what you think I did?” A glint in the green fire of Past Loki’s eyes clued Young Loki in.

He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe not.” The words crystallized in his mind. He wasn’t one to think before he spoke. Some things came by instinct. And he was speaking to himself. He ought to know. “If you wanted to live, you would have hidden yourself beneath the rug of the universe before the final blow was struck.”

Past Loki’s mouth turned up in one corner. The flames that encircled Young Loki rose, burned brighter. He was on the right path.

“You chose to die,” he accused. “You wanted to die. That means you needed to die.”

“And?” prompted Past Loki.

Young Loki frowned, stretching his fingers as he thought. “I don’t know why, though.”

“There is only one who Loki would sacrifice himself for,” said Past Loki, gesturing at Young Loki.

Young Loki blinked. Being caught off-guard wasn’t one of his strong suits. “You sacrificed yourself… for yourself?”

“Gods of chaos fall into a single trap: their capriciousness is its own pattern. They become predictable.” Past Loki shrugged. “I wrote myself out of the book of death. I slipped predestination’s noose. I would be found, or I’d find my way back. A new Loki. A fresh page with fresh ink to write a free future.”

Past Loki had told Young Loki not to trust him, and Loki could feel that warning tug at him right now. He wanted to believe Loki. He wanted to believe his past self. But this sounded too believable—it tugged at our young protagonist’s heart strings, his own desires and wants.

“You went into oblivion with nothing but the hope that there was something out there? Or that someone would show you the path home?” he ventured.

“It’s as the people of Midgard say. Change or die,” said Past Loki simply.

“And you’d rather die than not change,” said Loki with quiet understanding.

“I’d rather be nothing,” countered Past Loki. He straightened, a tower above Young Loki again. “Thankfully, it did not come to that.”

“I should tell Thor of this. Or Odin,” Loki said, trying to think of what their reactions would be. He corrected himself. “Definitely Thor.”

“Yes, you should,” murmured Past Loki.

Young Loki paced back and forth in the circle of green fire, ignoring the heat that blasted his face. “If I wanted to be killed, I should tell Thor. Thor couldn’t keep them from my head. They’d think me part of some scheme or plan from beyond the grave.”

“Hmmm,” said Past Loki, making a noise of agreement.

Loki’s head jerked up. “And they’d be correct, wouldn’t they?”

He hadn’t realized it until just now but in his truthfulness, Past Loki was telling him everything he needed to know. Young Loki spun on his heel to face his past self, “This is a scheme from beyond the grave!”

“Beyond their imagination, I imagine,” said Past Loki lightly.

“What now?” asked Young Loki.

“Power corrupts. Therefore, you’ll have little. You must become a new Loki, with naught but your wits to guard the Nine Realms.” Past Loki pulled the green fire from the circle around him like a cloak, and the sudden absence of warmth made young Loki shiver. He was engulfed in the darkness once again.

“Soon they will be in peril,” said Past Loki.

“Looming peril? Our specialty,” said Loki dryly.

“They think we’re the only one who can bring wickedness and treachery into the world. And they are wrong,” said Past Loki.

“This is all very vague. If you’re offering me advice, at least be specific about it,” Young Loki countered, but his mind was whirling like a storm. Who was they? Asgard, he must be talking about Asgard. Loki wouldn’t stand up for Midgard, would he? It seemed unlikely. And why would Past Loki help him? It seemed like a trap, a trick of some sort, a way for Past Loki to write his way into this story. But it didn’t belong to him. Not anymore.

“If I gave you advice, you shouldn’t pay any attention to it,” chided Past Loki. “Knowledge is what I have and what you should take. Know the difference. I have lifetime upon lifetime of mysteries, packed into this spirit by your dead older self. But I can be whatever you wish.”

Mentor. Advisor. Brother. Past.

Loki knew what he wanted. “What I wish,” he said, stepping from the dark into the ghastly green glow of Past Loki’s flames, “is to be Loki. To be myself, and not you.” He threw up his hands at his past self. “You are done. You are gone.”

Past Loki’s face widened in surprise, green fire streaking through him into the air as light exploded around them.

Young Loki called, “You are now my Ikol, my opposite, my bird. You are an ear-whisperer and a worm-eater. You’ll tell me what I want and nothing more.”

Past Loki made an awful groaning sound, like an enormous metal door being slammed shut, and then he was gone, a helmet clattering to the ground, a black and white magpie flapping his wings as he alighted on Young Loki’s arm.

Loki had said he’d be whatever Young Loki needed.

This seemed to be the safest way, the most trustworthy way, to gain that wisdom—without all the trouble.

“Let’s go home,” said Loki, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes, master,” said Ikol, cawing softly.

Loki’s smile grew on his face. “I like that.”

FOUR

BEFORE THISSTORY BEGAN, BEFORE LOKI MET LOKI IN A PLACE OUT OF TIME AND RETURNED WITH ONLY IKOL ON HIS SHOULDER, ODIN HAD FACED AN IMPOSSIBILITY.

He knew that the Serpent would come for Asgard’s destruction. He knew that the Serpent would bring his Dark Asgard to Asgard True one day in pursuit of all Nine Realms, and that he needed to prepare for this inevitability. The Serpent wanted nothing but destruction, and Odin was determined to protect his people and he’d do it at any cost.

Not everyone saw it this way. Not everyone saw the sacrifice of all of Earth and the mortals on it as an acceptable trade for preventing the Serpent coming here. Some didn’t see the Serpent as a threat, or didn’t believe him capable of what he threatened.

But Odin knew the Serpent’s heart. After all, the Serpent was his brother. Long lost to the ravages of history and time, cut into a cruel shape by a life the Fates had kept separate from Odin, but his brother nonetheless.

AND THAT WAS WHAT KEPT ODIN AWAKE AT NIGHT. THAT WAS WHAT LED HIM TO CONSIDER SUCH EXTREME MEASURES. YOUNGLOKI, AND ALL OTHERS IN ASGARD, FOUND THEMSELVES IN THE AFTERMATH OF ODIN’S DECISION.

“This isn’t right,” Loki muttered, watching soldiers drag the Hel-Wolf to a cell to await a time when he’d be unleashed on Midgard.

It wasn’t that Loki was particularly fond of dogs, or wolves, or beasts, but rather the part where Odin planned to unleash the beast on the people of Midgard. Midgard wasn’t their true enemy. It was collateral damage, at best. Loki wasn’t alone in thinking that condemning Midgard to death was no solution to the Serpent. Thor had railed against his father’s decree, and now he too awaited his fate in a cell.

The Hel-Wolf gnashed at the soldiers soldering his chains to a wall.

“For this you will all bleed!”

His growls and threats were ignored. Still, Loki thought the Hel-Wolf was not making idle promises when he said, “For this, your sons and daughters will know murder.”

To Loki, who had the precociousness of youth and prescience enough to see clearly, it seemed that those who created weapons of war felt obligated to use them, lest the effort be in vain. War begat war, it seemed, and Odin was mired deep in the effort.

“This isn’t right,” Loki repeated louder.

A warm, heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Aye, Loki.”

Loki glanced up, recognizing Galinn, a soldier who’d fought alongside Thor. He was young, but stubborn and traditional, and Loki had noticed how most of Thor’s close compatriots had avoided him until now. To earn Galinn’s agreement and regard thawed Loki’s apprehension and he relaxed. Maybe if Galinn warmed up to Loki, the others would as well.

“Right?” he said. “To scour one realm undermines all the realms. What we plan is nothing less than taking a saw to our own arm.” Loki glanced from Galinn to the other soldiers. “Thor’s gone. It’s up to us to help Asgard.”

He was so eager, and so, so wrong.

Galinn’s grin was wide and menacing, cutting his flushed cheeks and weathered skin like a crevice. “Aye, Loki. Thor is gone.” Loki’s eyes caught on movement and he saw Galinn’s hand settling on his sword’s hilt. “Thor is gone, and now we all know how we can help Asgard.”

Loki thought of a few choice words that he’d learned from the comments section on social media, but he couldn’t make his mouth say any of them. It was one thing to face the menacing hate online, and another to face it in person. He swallowed hard, turning his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. Last time someone had jeered at him, Thor had arrived just in time. But Thor was in a cell, and Loki was here. He leaned backward, away from Galinn, like distance was going to keep a sword from his throat. Not likely, in this rocky nook.

Suddenly, from over Loki’s head, a fist swung into view, cracking audibly into Galinn’s face. The air puffed out of Galinn with an oof and he staggered to the side, his hand leaving his sword hilt to catch his fall.

“I’m sorry, friend,” rumbled a genial voice. “My fist appears to have accidentally found its way into your face.”

One of Thor’s confidantes, Volstagg, settled his other hand settled on Loki’s shoulder. Loki didn’t think Volstagg liked him much, but he was relieved as Volstagg said cheerfully to Galinn, “Please forgive me. This way, Loki.”

He steered Loki away from the soldiers gathering around Galinn, who was scowling at Loki, like this too was his fault.

Loki wiped sweat from his brow. “Many thanks, Volstagg.”

Volstagg dropped his hand from Loki’s shoulder with a grumble. “I didn’t do it for you, Loki. I’m fulfilling my oath to protect you.”

“You made an oath to protect me?” Loki asked and then blinked. “Oh. Right. Thor. You made it to Thor.”

This was not some great oath of honor, made on a battlefield or on the eve of war. It was one friend to another, when one was in jail, to look after the troublesome little brother. Loki didn’t want to feel like the troublesome little brother.

“I’ll be a slacker in the oath-swearing in the future,” muttered Volstagg. He lumbered down the street, and Loki trailed after him.

“But don’t you think it’s true?” Loki said, jogging to catch up. Volstagg was a big man, with a bigger stride. “That we should help Thor?”

Volstagg ran his hand over his red hair and then down his red beard, avoiding Loki’s gaze. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you must be subtler in spreading dissent. Fomenting open revolt will not help Thor.”

He was right, of course. Odin would throw Loki in jail as soon as Thor, if not sooner. He only needed an excuse.

But Loki was young, and naively confident in his subtlety. “So you’re saying you agree.”

Volstagg rolled his eyes. “Yes. But if you want to help him, you must find another way.”

“Will you help?” asked Loki.

Volstagg wrinkled his nose and heaved a sigh so big it moved his belly. “Fine. But don’t go telling anyone. I don’t want it to look like I’m getting close to you. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

*   *   *

IT TURNED out that Volstagg’s idea of helping was to introduce Loki to goats.

Two goats in particular. Apparently, Past Loki had convinced Thor to harness and tame the Lords of the Goats, Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. It’d been a prank, and it had backfired spectacularly, because now Thor had a pair of indestructible goats who could go anywhere, and do most anything.

“I didn’t think that one through,” said Loki, surveying the goats.

“You rarely did,” said Volstagg, though this was not entirely true. It was only a matter of Volstagg’s perspective, as it is with all of us. “If you want to help Thor, you’ll care for the goats.”

“He just keeps the goats. And these godly goats just… stay.” Loki couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Well,” Volstagg said, reaching up to a hook on the wall where a golden bridle hung. As soon as he picked it up, the goats sighed with a bleary bleet and lowered their heads submissively. Loki didn’t have much experience around goats, but it didn’t seem entirely natural behavior.

“Magic bridle?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Magic bridle,” confirmed Volstagg, his grin wide and toothy. “Made by the dwarves. It’ll break the will of any beast.”

“But there are two of them, and there is one of the magic bridle,” Loki pointed out, feeling foolish even as he tried to make sense of why a bridle was needed for these goats.

“Aye,” Volstagg said, hanging the bridle back up. “It was a problem for Thor, but not an insurmountable one. Toothgrinder and Toothgnasher are brothers, thick as thieves, thicker than blood. One would not bow while the other was free. So Thor—”

“—made them both wear it at once,” Loki finished, seeing where the story was going. He looked back at the goats. “And it worked. Even when the bridle is off, their will is muted.”

“Aye. Once the bridle is on, the effects are permanent. It is quite a piece of tack.” Volstagg winked as he backed toward the stable entrance. “Their stall could use some cleaning, if you don’t mind. I’ve got mead to drink, and their master is in jail. Which is probably also your fault.”

It wasn’t, strictly, Loki’s fault. It wasn’t not his fault either, since Asgard was only in this precarious position—with a warmongering All-Father and a rebuilding city unprepared for coming war—because of his past self. Still, he watched Volstagg lumber out of the barn and shut the door behind him. The din of the city settled into a low hum outside these walls. The barn smelled warm, and like dung.

“Gross,” muttered Loki. “This is not what I thought he meant when he said he knew how to help Thor.”

A shadow flashed over the wall, spooking the goats, and Loki spun, on guard, only to see Ikol settling in a window. He rustled his feathers, his beady eyes sharp and uncanny.

“You must read between the lines.”

Loki scowled at the bird. “Where have you been?”

“Observing,” said the magpie.

“Your handiwork?” Loki retorted dryly.

Ikol glared at him with beady eyes. “Yours too, you know.”

Loki gestured to the goats. “Tell me, with your infinite wisdom, what I’m supposed to do with goats.”

“The wisdom you need is not for me to give,” said Ikol loftily.

Loki stared at him. The magpie stared back.

Ikol flapped his wings, a bird’s version of a show of reluctance. “Who is your enemy?”

He’d too many to count. On one hand, there were many who would want to be called Loki’s enemies—Galinn and the others, for instance—who Loki wouldn’t have counted as his enemies. There was Odin, who seemed completely immune to reason, to the point of threatening genocide to defend his people. And then there was the Serpent, the one who threatened not just Asgard but all the realms. All would suffer under the Serpent.

“The Serpent.”

“And who is this Serpent?” asked Ikol, as though he was leading Loki to an obvious answer.

Loki frowned. “No one knows. You can’t possibly know.”

“I don’t know, but that does not mean the answers must remain unknowable.” Ikol hopped down the ledge and across the gate that stood between Loki and the goats. “The World Tree knows all.”

The World Tree existed out of time and space, the connection between all Nine Realms, its roots and branches the pathways to the realms. Everything in the known universes and dimensions was connected through the Tree.

And at its base lived the Fates, three Norn goddesses.

If all was connected through the Tree, then that included stories. All history. All truth.

And to learn about the Serpent, he needed to go to the World Tree, to stand at its base, to get answers to questions he asked, and answers to questions he didn’t think to ask.

“What answers could the World Tree have about the Serpent?” he asked. “How does this help Thor?”

“Three Nornish women sit at its base. Whispering secrets,” said Ikol.

Loki was really starting to regret turning his past self into a bird of wisdom if the magpie didn’t stop speaking in half-truths and riddles.

“So I must go to the World Tree,” Loki confirmed. “How do I get there?”

It was a good thing magpies couldn’t grin, because if they could, Ikol would have been grinning wider than the Rainbow Road. He hopped closer to the gate, fluttering his wings and startling the goats. Loki looked at the bird, then at the goats, and then at the bridle hanging on the wall.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said.

“I think you mean, ‘You must be kidding,’” said Ikol.

*   *   *

RIDING A goat was not Loki’s preferred method of transportation. Admittedly, goats do not rank high on many people’s lists, though they are bright and curious creatures. These goats were sullen creatures, harnessed by a bridle that controlled them. Their will was not their own. And though they might have reached an understanding with Thor, they did not know this spry god of lies who directed them to follow a magpie to the center of the earth. They’d no reason to trust him.

Who did?

Ikol, perhaps. But magpies are capricious, intelligent creatures—entirely unknowable.

Loki, Toothgnasher and Ikol arrived at the edge of the cavern that led to the World Tree and the Nornish women at its base. A cascade of rainbow light, brighter than the Rainbow Bridge, splashed color on the walls of the cavern. The lights played on the walls, moving and spinning together.

Loki dismounted off the goat, awed by the colors. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. The Asgard he knew was blue skies over rebuilt ruins—there was nothing like the colors here.

He wanted to just sit, legs dangling over the cliff edge, and watch them for hours.

Ikol hopped over to him. “The preparations are complete.”

Loki blinked and shook his head, pulling his attention back to where he was. Right. He needed to learn about the Serpent so he could fight it and save Asgard.

Loki tried not look afraid of the height when he walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the hole in the earth. He squinted as rainbow beams of light hit him in the face.

“I feel like it’s an overstatement to say that preparations are complete,” Loki said to Ikol, turning around to get the woolen rope he’d made from the coat of Toothgrinder, the goat he hadn’t ridden down here. It hadn’t seemed fair to shear the goat and then ride it.

“What else do you need to know?” Ikol fluttered up from the ground to his shoulder.

“What do I need to do down there?” Loki asked, looping the rope hastily around the goat’s leg. He tossed the extra over the cliff.

Ikol didn’t need to speak to communicate his disapproval.

“What? It’s fine. I’ll be able to climb that back up.” “Yes, you’re known for your upper body strength, it’s true,” Ikol said dryly.

Loki scowled. “You didn’t tell me what I needed to do down there.”

“Survive,” said Ikol.

Loki pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Not comforting at all.” He took a deep breath and set his shoulders back. “Well. Might as well go.”

And then he threw himself off the edge.

FIVE

FIRST, YOU must learn the Serpent’s story.

You are new here and, like Young Loki, lacking the context required to understand the enemy.

No one is born a Serpent. No one wakes up with evil in their hearts, destined to bring down the realms of gods. Before he was a Serpent, he was a boy. A boy of twelve, thirteen, what does it matter? Too young to know better, old enough for his heart to harden. Just about the same age as Young Loki himself.

The Serpent was a boy, a nameless one, with willfulness that hadn’t turned to malice, curiosity that hadn’t turn to cruelty. He roamed the realms freely, dreaming of the future. He’d be a knight. A hero. Something—someone—bold and brave, daring and true, admired and sought after.

Until one day, the leathery giant-hands fell upon him. Despite his struggle, they dragged him to the peak of a mountain under stormy skies. The giants reeked of sulfur baths and rancid food, a smell in which flies gathered and lay eggs that hatched into maggots. They dangled the boy over the edge of the cliffs.

“You gods think you live in the heavens!” they roared. “Let’s see how you fly.”

The Serpent had been silent when they took him. And he was silent as he fell, the wind rushing by, the enormous sky swallowed by the rocks beside him. He slammed into the earth below, bones breaking with sharp cracks.

Breathing hurt.

Moving hurt more.

Every time his heart beat, it struck a broken rib. The pain crisscrossed his body, drawing a map of pain.

He should be dead, truly. No one was designed to survive that fall.

But he wasn’t dead. Instead, a terrible, deep thirst tormented him. This thirst could not be quenched by dew or rainwater or even the wines of distant Asgard. It was a thirst that drove him to splint his own limbs, setting bones that had been broken in his fall. He did the best he could, and though they were awkward and ill-formed, they did the job.

And while he wrapped rags around his makeshift splints, the boy had time to think. He had time to let the dreams that would never be fester in his heart.

Nothing good festers. Remember that.

He waited until nightfall.

His broken bones screamed, lightning lancing through his joints, as he belly-crawled, hauling himself by his elbows to the camp of the slumbering giants. He would not be deterred. No pain could slow him or stop him. He could see their sleeping forms, and that was enough incentive for him. They reeked of ale, sleeping like logs after gorging on drink and food, both of which had been denied to the boy.

He made his way to each of them, tearing out their throats before they could wake. The air was thick with the scent of metallic blood. It was the death he should have been given. Eternal sleep. But he’d suffered, and now he was going to pass suffering back in to the world.

He left one giant alive. And that giant woke to find himself surrounded by his slaughtered kin, blood and brothers. On the wall, the boy had written, Gods do not live in the Sky. We live on Earth. And you do so at our pleasure.

The man was no fool. He knew what he had read. He was in the presence of the Serpent, and he rightly feared him. Like all good sole survivors, he spread word about that night, and so the word of the Serpent spread.

All who heard the tale feared him.

Just as the Serpent wanted. He was in a story. He was the main character. Not the hero, but close enough.

SIX

THAT WAS not all Loki learned at the World Tree.

He climbed back up the stubborn goat’s stubborn wool and flopped onto his back on the hot stone. Tears streamed down his face and he wiped them away hastily. He did not want to believe that the Nornish women were right, but they were.

What the Fates said had to be true. Didn’t it?

He’d never wanted anything more than for them to be wrong.

Ikol hopped over to him and pecked at his cheek. Loki swatted the bird away and sat up, trying not to sniffle too loud.

“You know what you must do?” asked Ikol.

Loki could tell the bird saw his distress and was ignoring it, at least for now. He appreciated the kindness. He drew in a breath and hiccupped. “Yes.”

Ikol pecked at him again. “Who are you?”

Loki wiped at his eyes again, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. There would be no time for tears. “I am Loki.”

“Does Loki cry?” asked the magpie.

“But briefly,” Loki said, his voice catching.

“So you know your path,” Ikol said. A statement rather than a question.

“I know my path,” said Loki, climbing to his feet. “And I know how I must do it. But this is beyond just me, and beyond just you, Ikol, wicked though you are.”

“I am shocked that you think my counsel may not be enough,” Ikol said.

“You know, I think it’s alarming that I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” said Loki, swinging a leg over the goat. “Also, we’ll need to find a new ride.”

He was using humor to glide past the pain in his heart, he knew. And Ikol knew it too. But the bird was not always wicked and was sometimes generous. He flew ahead of the goat and let Loki pretend that he did not know what lay ahead of them.

*   *   *

THE FIRST thing Loki did was put the goat back in the barn where he belonged.

The second thing Loki did was go find Thor.

Thor was still imprisoned on Odin’s orders, and so this involved climbing through a sewer system not large enough for full-grown adults, but with plenty of room for a scrappy kid. Especially Loki.

He wiggled through on his knees and elbows, scraping his way along on his belly until the tunnel opened up, widening where light came through grates, painting stripes on the tunnel walls.

It took several cells before he found Thor’s. His brother sat dejectedly against the wall, legs in front of him.

“You look morose,” said Loki.

“Loki?” Thor asked, looking up. For a brief moment, his face lightened. And then he frowned. “How did you get in here?”

“I need your advice,” Loki said, scooting closer to the grate so he could pull his legs underneath himself. He brushed dirt off his shirt and trousers. “So I have come to see you.”

“But how—” Thor began again.

“I really don’t want to lie to you,” said Loki. “I don’t like it. So if you don’t mind, could we skip the questions like how and who and why?”

Thor stared at him for a long second and then sighed, shoulders falling. His blond hair was greasy and clumped. He smelled. Loki decided not to tell him that because he could see his brother’s dejection in how quickly he acquiesced and agreed to Loki’s terms.