Rand of the Norse
Mar. 1st, 2011 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drownedinlight Okay, so it's kind of a dumb title, but I'm going to roll with it for now until I can think of a better one. This is part 1 and 2 of the story (I only wrote part two today, so that's the only part that's going to go into today's official count; overall it's 4098 words long so far).
This is how they tell the old stories, though this one is not so old:
This is the story of how I was born, and how I became a man, as one, as the roots of the world tree reach from the depths of fire and ice, twine together and spread to the heavens, to Asgard.
First: Mother of Rand
The day smelt of the clouds, thick with rain. Kjerstin felt something flutter inside her chest as she watched them roll over the field and small forest surrounding the small home she kept with her son. She shoved the feeling down inside of her, and continued to stir the porridge on the stove. She was not a part of the old world, any longer—they rejected her first when she was born, and then when she bore her son, as if she could help being half elf, half dwarf, as if she could help that a drunken god came to her and…
“Good morning, Mum,” Rand said, as he entered the room, pulling a long-sleeved tee-shirt over his head. “Do you think I’ll be able to go out and play?” he asked, eying the grey clouds.
“So long as you come in before it starts to rain, you should be all right. She spooned some of the porridge into a bowl, adding a dollop of butter and a sprinkling of sugar. She stuck spoon off to the side, and handed it to Rand to stir up at the breakfast table. “Eat that and I’ll make you some eggs; poached, like you like them.” Rand smiled at her,
“Thank you, Mum.” He stirred and mashed the oatmeal, before he carved out caves and tunnels and some of it finally made it to his mouth. Kjerstin watched him for a time before she turned back to the stove to begin a pot of water to poach the eggs in.
Rand really looked almost nothing like her, she thought. She had come out a mix of her parents, between their heights, widths and colors. She was tall enough to compare to a human, black hair from her father, and since she did not spend all of her time in the dark undergrounds or in the eternal sunshine of the elves, she was a beige color that many “white,” humans were as well. Rand’s red hair burned against his pale skin, which would freckle and tan easily in sun light. She wondered if people could tell as easily as she could, sometimes, what he was.
“I’m done, may I be excused?” Rand asked. Rand had finished his porridge and the water in the pot was boiling without her notice. Kjerstin turned down the burner and pulled the eggs from the refrigerator.
“Just let me make you an egg first, after you eat that you can go outside to play.” Rand pouted in his chair, swinging his legs back and forth as he did, but stayed put. Kjerstin poached the egg quickly, sliding it into his empty bowl only a minute later. Rand cut it in half, devouring it in two slices. “All right, rinse your bowl and you can go and play with your ball.” The bowl was in the sink and the boy by the door almost faster than she could blink. “Come back inside if it starts to rain! And you have to do some school work today, too, Rand!”
She shook her head when she heard the sounds of a ball being bunted came through the open windows of her kitchen/dining room. Kjerstin poached an egg for herself and prepared her own bowl of oatmeal before she sat down at the table. She tried to concentrate on the newspaper as she ate, but could not find her head. Something about this weather was making her strange, making her remember.
That night, over ten years ago now, she, her brother and a few friends had burnt a bond fire for the solstice, and when everyone had left, a cloaked figure approached the fire and asked if he could sit down. Kjerstin had felt the power beneath his skin and did not dare to say no. She housed the god or goddess possibly, swearing oath after oath never to tell anyone that he or she had been there. Nine months later, she had been gifted with Rand, whom she so called because it was not an old name, but something from a new story.
“MUM!” Rand called. “MUM I NEED YOU! THERE’S A MAN HERE!” Kjerstin did not think, but took a knife from one of her kitchen drawers and ran into her front yard, where Rand stood. She pushed her son behind her as she brandished her knife, getting a good look at the man. He was elderly, white hair flowing down to his ears, and white beard decorating his mouth. He wore grey slacks beneath a grey trench coat and his eyes were covered by a grey fedora.
“Leave my son be!” she ordered, thrusting the knife in front of her.
“You think a knife will stop me, Kjerstin Siggurdsson?” he asked, raising up his head just enough so that she could see one of his eyes was put out.
“Mum, he knew my name,” Rand whispered.
“Why have you come?” she asked.
“To see the boy, of course, I have looked for him for ten long years,” the man said. “And now I see him before me, safe and sound. You have not told him Kjerstin.”
“I was made to swear an oath when it was done that I would never speak of that night,” she hissed. That had been the only thing he said that made sense that night,
“Swear to me,” the god figure begged. “Swear never to tell, not anyone.” And she had.
The man in grey smiled.
“Then I will tell, Kjerstin Siggurdsson.”
The All-Father spoke to me, telling me of who my father was, and therefore the person I was meant to become. I wished I did not have to listen, and I wished I did not have to grow.
Second: Daughter of Loki
Saga leaned against her jeep waiting for Rand to leave the party. She tapped her foot against the ground, keeping time with the pulsating music coming from the house in front of her. She pressed off against the jeep, walking a few steps forward, before turning around and going back. She repeated the process a few times, before she finally go half to the house, and saw Rand stumble off the front steps, his hair glinting against the porch light.
“There you are,” she said, not quite loud enough. “I was starting to think you had died, or gotten drunk or ditched me, or something. Did you get the tape of Mark acting like a total drunken douche bag?” Rand bobbed his head up and down.
“He, um…he wasn’t drunk, not really, but he did confess to me that he was gay, and interested, and um…” As Rand stumbled closer, Saga could see that he was crying and his nose was running.
“Rand, what happened?”
“Nothing, God, Saga.” Saga looked at him, saw that he was only able to look at the ground, and marched toward the house.
“I’m gonna kill the fucking bastard!” she screamed. Rand grabbed her by the arm before she could get far, and though she squirmed with all her might, he did not let go. “Rand! He raped you, didn’t he? Let me go kick his ass.”
“He didn’t rape me, Saga, he talked me into it.” Rand sniffled against the bass of the music. “Can we just go, please?” She snorted and huffed but Rand still did not let her go until she turned around.
“Get in the damn jeep.” Rand followed her, and Saga noticed that he cringed when he sat down. “Your mother is going to fucking kill you. Did you use protection?”
“I’m a fucking idiot, Saga, but yes we used fucking protection. Just drive.” Saga punched her gas, pulling out onto the dirt road that led away from the party. She knew that Rand would not let her take him to the ER, or to his mother, so she drove toward the convenience store to pick up some mediocre medical supplies. Every so often she would glance at Rand under the street lights, as he leaned against the door.
“You should let me turn him into a pigeon or something stupid.”
“We can’t use our powers like that. The All-Father would kill us.”
“The All-Father can kiss my ass. Mark Dieter is a jerk who seduces innocent, gay, demi-gods just to say that he could.” The air fell silent for a moment.
“You wouldn’t say that if you met him,” Rand retorted. Saga assumed he meant the All-Father. “You’d be scared as shit to try something.”
“It’s not like I have ever met him,” Saga told him. “Why, have you?”
“I don’t just say things like that because it’s fun. He’s the one that told me. And trust me; you don’t want him knowing you exist. He pitched a big enough fit when he found me. ”
“Yeah, imagine if he found out who my dad is,” Saga said, grinning.
“It’s not funny, and you don’t know for sure that he’s your father.”
“Sure I do—what other Norse god would tell a woman that he’s Loki the Sky-walker? I mean, don’t all of them hate Loki or something?”
“Did he really tell your mother that?” Rand asked, turning his head to her side.
“Yep, right before they did it. That’s how she knew what to tell me when I started turning into half-animal things and turned Chelsea Hannigan’s skin purple. Why, does your mom not know who fathered you?” Rand didn’t say anything for a minute.
“We don’t talk about it much. She doesn’t like the old ways.” Saga pulled into the lot for the convenience store, parked and took a good long look at her friend. His eye focused on a random part of the dashboard, they were red around his blue irises and seemed to droop into his skin. He did not look his six foot-one self, powerful and mighty, like a young god. He looked in a state between death and sleep. Saga hit his arm.
“Come on, I’ll get you a soda.” Rand almost fell out of the car, and stumbled after her into the store. As she riffled through the toiletries isle for gauze, disinfectant and medical tape, Saga watched Rand, in just the isle ahead of her. “Hair dye?” she asked, walking to his side.
“The only way of changing myself that doesn’t involve a knife,” he replied. “People take advantage of me, Saga, and I let them. I let the All-Father, I let Mark Dietrich. I don’t wanna feel that anymore. I just want to change that part of me, but it’s not that simple. I don’t want to be him.” Saga ran her teeth over her lip.
“Get the black. Nobody messes with tall, dark and broody.”
I ignore my pain, I ignore where I’ve come from. I do not want to grow to be my father, so I let others walk all over me. I want change, I want balance. I don’t want to be him, but I don’t want this pain ever again.
Lady Freyja, full of fire and grace, most beautiful, most wanted, great Lady Freyja. Her stomach would swell but not with me. And from her a child, most beautiful, would grow in hatred, but resent it so that she would love those around her.
Third: Daughter of Freyja
Every other, when Chrysanta walked from her poly-sci class to her music theory, she saw a tall dark haired boy walking from the library to one of the outlying buildings on Campus. She watched him for about a month, trying to figure out what about him seemed so familiar, and why he would turn away every time their eyes almost met. Finally, one day when her teacher for music theory was going to be out, Chrysanta walked up to the tall, dark stranger and stuck her hand out in front of him.
“Hi, I’m Chrysanta Hume.” He stared between her hand and her face, long enough for her to count to twenty in her head, before he finally took her hand firmly in his.
“Rand Siggurdsson, nice to meet you.”
“You want to get some coffee at the school shop?” she asked. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Sure.”
As it turned out, they both ordered tea; Rand took his with extra honey. When they settled in an abandoned corner of the small coffee shop, they engaged mostly at taking small sips of the hot tea for a few minutes.
“So,” Chrysanta said, finally working up her courage. “Can you feel it too?” Rand blinked at her, making Chrysanta quickly amend the statement, “I mean, are you like me?”
“I’m not Greek, if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, a smile quirking at the edge of his lips. “And yes, I can feel you. There are days when you feel like a furnace, even from a distance.”
“Really, how did you stand it?” Chrysanta said.
“I couldn’t really, that’s why I tried to distance us, especially since I’m attracted to you,” he said, holding his cup to his lips.
“Uh, thanks?” she spat, taking another drink of her tea. Rand swallowed his quickly.
“No, it’s not like that—you are really beautiful; don’t get me wrong, but females as a sex in general don’t do much for me.”
“Oh…” she said. What would one of the mighty gods of the north say if they knew they had sired a gay son? She giggled a little at the thought. “That’s okay; at least you didn’t mistake me for a daughter of Aphrodite.” Rand nodded along, like the same thing had happened to him before.
“The Greeks can’t be blamed. Their cousins are everywhere, it makes sense that they think we’re one of them. After all, you don’t really hear about the Aesir making too many half-mortal children, and you have yet to be mistaken for a faerie.”
“Technically, my mother is a Vanir.” Chrysanta smiled, pushing her now empty cup away from her. “So, when did they tell you? Mother waited until I was sixteen, if you can believe that.” Rand stiffened, and a dent formed in his paper cup.
“The All-Father told me when I was ten,” he said. “But it’s not that great. I really wish I didn’t know. I wish they didn’t know too.” Chrysanta leaned across the table, taking both his hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “You’re…projecting again. It feels like there’s a blazing fire in front of me.” Chrysanta squeezed a little less tightly, and he squeezed back. “What do I feel like, to you?”
Chrysanta hesitated, not quite sure she could tell what he seemed like, his aura so gentle and controlled that she really had to think to reach out and touch it. It took her a minute, but finally something sweet and damp assaulted her nose.
“You smell like the rain, Rand.”
The more I think of where I came from, the more weight bears down on my shoulders. I feel, a destiny, coming for me, something I am not prepared for, nor want any part of. Meeting Chrysanta felt like taking a giant leap closer to doing whatever had been set out for me before I was born.
Odin, the wise, the magical, the wander, All-Father, but not my father, not the man who came to my mother some twenty years ago, and made her swell with child. Your son is more like you, and your other sons, the many ways that you are.
Fourth: Son of Odin
The door, like most in the doors, was plain, pine wood, with small, metal numbers nailed in close to the top. There was a white board off to one side, defaced with a penis, a color coded schedule just above it, also defaced with a penis, and a name plate denoting that Michael Hemsworth lived in this dorm room. There was nothing on the other side of the door, which made Axel wonder if he had gotten the right room, but when he knocked, he heard the distinctive voice that could only belong to Rand.
He twisted the knob, and took in the room before he saw Rand sitting at his desk, looking over some charts about how children responded intellectually to the Muppets or something like that.
“You’re roots are showing,” he said. Rand looked up, frowning.
“How did you find out where I live?” Rand had kept it a secret since Chrysanta had introduced them a year ago, because Axel loved nothing more than to pick on every detail of Rand’s existence.
“I told housing and res life that I found something of yours and wanted to return it, and they gave you up pretty quickly,” Axel explained. He spun out the chair from the other desk, and sat so he could look at Rand easily. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“It must be important if you tracked me down to annoy me,” Rand said, still frowning. “All right, shoot.”
“I need you to tell me who your father is.” Silence held in the room and Rand looked him straight in the eye to say,
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?” Axel asked, trying to keep his voice as even as he could. “You haven’t told Chrysanta either, and you guys have been friends since freshman year, over two years now.” Rand sighed, standing up to turn his chair around instead of twisting himself to look at Axel. He sat down again, slumping himself over so that he could rest his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together.
“The All-Father made me swear not to,” Rand replied. “When he came to tell me what I was, when I was ten years old, he made me swear an oath in the old tongue, never to reveal who my father was. And I haven’t ever.”
“Why would Father do that?” Axel asked.
“He said it was to protect mother and I from the retribution that would surely come from some members of Asgard should they know who he was. I think it was also to protect his and my father’s reputation. I’ve often thought that it was because of the bet Lord Odin and Lady Freya made that Father chose to come down and…well, I can’t say much more. I can feel the oath pressing down on me. And besides, who am I to speculate on why the gods do things?”
Axel opened his mouth, but only allowed a breath of air to escape before he closed it again. Rand looked up at him and snorted. “It’s not Lord Odin, in case you were wonder, or Lady Freya.”
“Loki?” Axel asked, causing Rand to burst out laughing.
“Loki and Odin may be blood brothers, but think of all the trouble they’ve caused for each other over the years. He wouldn’t protect a child of Loki, even if it was to protect himself too.”
“Is there a child of Loki?” Axel asked. Rand smiled, and raised a finger to his lips. “Right, demi-gods stick together. It’s a good thing Father took off after he explained everything, imagine what would have happened if he found out from me.”
“Bad things, for you at least.” Rand’s smiled faded quickly from him. “What did you mean when you said you needed me to tell you?” Now Axel ducked his head. “Axel, tell me, or I’m getting Chrysanta to guilt it out of you.”
“I keep having visions,” Axel blurted out before he could stop himself. “They’re always brief, but there are things that are always the same: the sun is setting and the gods lay defeated on the ground unable to get up, and Loki stands over them laughing. Then someone reaches for a hammer, and then the vision ends. They feel like they’re getting closer and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But I thought if I could find the hammer person, it would be all right, somehow.”
“And the obvious didn’t come to mind?” Rand asked.
“It wasn’t Thor,” Axel said. “The way my visions work…I just would have known.”
“…Have you told the All-Father?” Rand asked.
“He says he has seen no such vision, but still, it worries me, Rand, that something like that could come about, that the gods, our parents could actually fall. Imagine what Loki would do to us if he actually succeeded.” Rand shivered with Axel—they as the sons of Loki’s most ardent enemies would surely be destroyed.
“Then let us pray such a thing does not come to pass,” Rand said, gripping Axel’s forearm.
“Let us pray,” Axel replied, gripping back with a godling’s strength.
I should say that this story is inspired by the written works of Neil Gaiman, Rick Riordin and a girl in my Creative Writing Class, who won't be named for privacy reasons, but wrote an awesome poem influence by Greek Mythology.
3/1/11 WC: 2,566
Total Project Count: 2566
Reading for Tonight: Push Comes to Shove by Maud Lavin
This is how they tell the old stories, though this one is not so old:
Once, when the All-Father returned from many travels, he held a feast in his grand hall. He invited many peoples from the different races of all the habitable worlds, save Mannheimr and Jötunheimr, of course, even Lady Hel came up from her depths to join the other races, for a night of drinking and revelry.
And the people did come—Aesir and Vanir, Ljósálfar and Svartálfar, and even Lady Hel ventured up from the cold depths of her realm to Odin’s great hall which stretched into the great heights of Asgard, of polished oak and great stone. Smoked salmon and roasted meat filled the table in abundance, and Ó”gir’s ale and honey mead flowed without end into the mouths of the immortals. The food and drink breathed out song and laughter and dance.
And the people did come—Aesir and Vanir, Ljósálfar and Svartálfar, and even Lady Hel ventured up from the cold depths of her realm to Odin’s great hall which stretched into the great heights of Asgard, of polished oak and great stone. Smoked salmon and roasted meat filled the table in abundance, and Ó”gir’s ale and honey mead flowed without end into the mouths of the immortals. The food and drink breathed out song and laughter and dance.
This is the story of how I was born, and how I became a man, as one, as the roots of the world tree reach from the depths of fire and ice, twine together and spread to the heavens, to Asgard.
First: Mother of Rand
The day smelt of the clouds, thick with rain. Kjerstin felt something flutter inside her chest as she watched them roll over the field and small forest surrounding the small home she kept with her son. She shoved the feeling down inside of her, and continued to stir the porridge on the stove. She was not a part of the old world, any longer—they rejected her first when she was born, and then when she bore her son, as if she could help being half elf, half dwarf, as if she could help that a drunken god came to her and…
“Good morning, Mum,” Rand said, as he entered the room, pulling a long-sleeved tee-shirt over his head. “Do you think I’ll be able to go out and play?” he asked, eying the grey clouds.
“So long as you come in before it starts to rain, you should be all right. She spooned some of the porridge into a bowl, adding a dollop of butter and a sprinkling of sugar. She stuck spoon off to the side, and handed it to Rand to stir up at the breakfast table. “Eat that and I’ll make you some eggs; poached, like you like them.” Rand smiled at her,
“Thank you, Mum.” He stirred and mashed the oatmeal, before he carved out caves and tunnels and some of it finally made it to his mouth. Kjerstin watched him for a time before she turned back to the stove to begin a pot of water to poach the eggs in.
Rand really looked almost nothing like her, she thought. She had come out a mix of her parents, between their heights, widths and colors. She was tall enough to compare to a human, black hair from her father, and since she did not spend all of her time in the dark undergrounds or in the eternal sunshine of the elves, she was a beige color that many “white,” humans were as well. Rand’s red hair burned against his pale skin, which would freckle and tan easily in sun light. She wondered if people could tell as easily as she could, sometimes, what he was.
“I’m done, may I be excused?” Rand asked. Rand had finished his porridge and the water in the pot was boiling without her notice. Kjerstin turned down the burner and pulled the eggs from the refrigerator.
“Just let me make you an egg first, after you eat that you can go outside to play.” Rand pouted in his chair, swinging his legs back and forth as he did, but stayed put. Kjerstin poached the egg quickly, sliding it into his empty bowl only a minute later. Rand cut it in half, devouring it in two slices. “All right, rinse your bowl and you can go and play with your ball.” The bowl was in the sink and the boy by the door almost faster than she could blink. “Come back inside if it starts to rain! And you have to do some school work today, too, Rand!”
She shook her head when she heard the sounds of a ball being bunted came through the open windows of her kitchen/dining room. Kjerstin poached an egg for herself and prepared her own bowl of oatmeal before she sat down at the table. She tried to concentrate on the newspaper as she ate, but could not find her head. Something about this weather was making her strange, making her remember.
That night, over ten years ago now, she, her brother and a few friends had burnt a bond fire for the solstice, and when everyone had left, a cloaked figure approached the fire and asked if he could sit down. Kjerstin had felt the power beneath his skin and did not dare to say no. She housed the god or goddess possibly, swearing oath after oath never to tell anyone that he or she had been there. Nine months later, she had been gifted with Rand, whom she so called because it was not an old name, but something from a new story.
“MUM!” Rand called. “MUM I NEED YOU! THERE’S A MAN HERE!” Kjerstin did not think, but took a knife from one of her kitchen drawers and ran into her front yard, where Rand stood. She pushed her son behind her as she brandished her knife, getting a good look at the man. He was elderly, white hair flowing down to his ears, and white beard decorating his mouth. He wore grey slacks beneath a grey trench coat and his eyes were covered by a grey fedora.
“Leave my son be!” she ordered, thrusting the knife in front of her.
“You think a knife will stop me, Kjerstin Siggurdsson?” he asked, raising up his head just enough so that she could see one of his eyes was put out.
“Mum, he knew my name,” Rand whispered.
“Why have you come?” she asked.
“To see the boy, of course, I have looked for him for ten long years,” the man said. “And now I see him before me, safe and sound. You have not told him Kjerstin.”
“I was made to swear an oath when it was done that I would never speak of that night,” she hissed. That had been the only thing he said that made sense that night,
“Swear to me,” the god figure begged. “Swear never to tell, not anyone.” And she had.
The man in grey smiled.
“Then I will tell, Kjerstin Siggurdsson.”
The All-Father spoke to me, telling me of who my father was, and therefore the person I was meant to become. I wished I did not have to listen, and I wished I did not have to grow.
But sometime in the middle of the feast, the great doors of Valhalla opened and with a great breeze Loki Sky-walker entered the hall of fallen heroes.
He had not been invited to the spectacle, but he was the blood-brother of Odin, so when he walked toward the head of the table in the now quiet hall, there was a chair empty across from Thor. Most unfortunately, this also placed him next to Lady Freyja, wife of the All-Father, Lord Odin.
Loki, trickster, sky-walker, shape shifter, is not my father. But from him came a great gift for me that no one in the heavens would have thought possible. My dearest, dearest friend, who walked beside me at all points, as I grew.He had not been invited to the spectacle, but he was the blood-brother of Odin, so when he walked toward the head of the table in the now quiet hall, there was a chair empty across from Thor. Most unfortunately, this also placed him next to Lady Freyja, wife of the All-Father, Lord Odin.
Second: Daughter of Loki
Saga leaned against her jeep waiting for Rand to leave the party. She tapped her foot against the ground, keeping time with the pulsating music coming from the house in front of her. She pressed off against the jeep, walking a few steps forward, before turning around and going back. She repeated the process a few times, before she finally go half to the house, and saw Rand stumble off the front steps, his hair glinting against the porch light.
“There you are,” she said, not quite loud enough. “I was starting to think you had died, or gotten drunk or ditched me, or something. Did you get the tape of Mark acting like a total drunken douche bag?” Rand bobbed his head up and down.
“He, um…he wasn’t drunk, not really, but he did confess to me that he was gay, and interested, and um…” As Rand stumbled closer, Saga could see that he was crying and his nose was running.
“Rand, what happened?”
“Nothing, God, Saga.” Saga looked at him, saw that he was only able to look at the ground, and marched toward the house.
“I’m gonna kill the fucking bastard!” she screamed. Rand grabbed her by the arm before she could get far, and though she squirmed with all her might, he did not let go. “Rand! He raped you, didn’t he? Let me go kick his ass.”
“He didn’t rape me, Saga, he talked me into it.” Rand sniffled against the bass of the music. “Can we just go, please?” She snorted and huffed but Rand still did not let her go until she turned around.
“Get in the damn jeep.” Rand followed her, and Saga noticed that he cringed when he sat down. “Your mother is going to fucking kill you. Did you use protection?”
“I’m a fucking idiot, Saga, but yes we used fucking protection. Just drive.” Saga punched her gas, pulling out onto the dirt road that led away from the party. She knew that Rand would not let her take him to the ER, or to his mother, so she drove toward the convenience store to pick up some mediocre medical supplies. Every so often she would glance at Rand under the street lights, as he leaned against the door.
“You should let me turn him into a pigeon or something stupid.”
“We can’t use our powers like that. The All-Father would kill us.”
“The All-Father can kiss my ass. Mark Dieter is a jerk who seduces innocent, gay, demi-gods just to say that he could.” The air fell silent for a moment.
“You wouldn’t say that if you met him,” Rand retorted. Saga assumed he meant the All-Father. “You’d be scared as shit to try something.”
“It’s not like I have ever met him,” Saga told him. “Why, have you?”
“I don’t just say things like that because it’s fun. He’s the one that told me. And trust me; you don’t want him knowing you exist. He pitched a big enough fit when he found me. ”
“Yeah, imagine if he found out who my dad is,” Saga said, grinning.
“It’s not funny, and you don’t know for sure that he’s your father.”
“Sure I do—what other Norse god would tell a woman that he’s Loki the Sky-walker? I mean, don’t all of them hate Loki or something?”
“Did he really tell your mother that?” Rand asked, turning his head to her side.
“Yep, right before they did it. That’s how she knew what to tell me when I started turning into half-animal things and turned Chelsea Hannigan’s skin purple. Why, does your mom not know who fathered you?” Rand didn’t say anything for a minute.
“We don’t talk about it much. She doesn’t like the old ways.” Saga pulled into the lot for the convenience store, parked and took a good long look at her friend. His eye focused on a random part of the dashboard, they were red around his blue irises and seemed to droop into his skin. He did not look his six foot-one self, powerful and mighty, like a young god. He looked in a state between death and sleep. Saga hit his arm.
“Come on, I’ll get you a soda.” Rand almost fell out of the car, and stumbled after her into the store. As she riffled through the toiletries isle for gauze, disinfectant and medical tape, Saga watched Rand, in just the isle ahead of her. “Hair dye?” she asked, walking to his side.
“The only way of changing myself that doesn’t involve a knife,” he replied. “People take advantage of me, Saga, and I let them. I let the All-Father, I let Mark Dietrich. I don’t wanna feel that anymore. I just want to change that part of me, but it’s not that simple. I don’t want to be him.” Saga ran her teeth over her lip.
“Get the black. Nobody messes with tall, dark and broody.”
I ignore my pain, I ignore where I’ve come from. I do not want to grow to be my father, so I let others walk all over me. I want change, I want balance. I don’t want to be him, but I don’t want this pain ever again.
“Why Lady Freyja,” said Loki. “How radiant you look.” A great cheer rose in the hall, for it was well known that Lady Freyja was indeed the most beautiful goddess.
“Thank you, Loki,” Freyja said.
“I wonder if you lay so many because you are beautiful, or you are so beautiful because you lay so many.” A hush fell over the hall once again, but Lady Freyja only smiled.
“I am the way I was created, Loki. And you still are the way you were created—still more foolish than tricky.” The hall laughed at the insult, but Loki sneered a twisted smile.
“I only wondered, because you have lain with so many, and you are so beautiful, I thought perhaps the two might be connected.”
“Perhaps you are jealous, Loki, for have not lain you, or any Jötnar, or any of my husband’s sons or many of the males here. And I have never lain with a mortal, Trickster, of that you may be sure.”
“Thank you, Loki,” Freyja said.
“I wonder if you lay so many because you are beautiful, or you are so beautiful because you lay so many.” A hush fell over the hall once again, but Lady Freyja only smiled.
“I am the way I was created, Loki. And you still are the way you were created—still more foolish than tricky.” The hall laughed at the insult, but Loki sneered a twisted smile.
“I only wondered, because you have lain with so many, and you are so beautiful, I thought perhaps the two might be connected.”
“Perhaps you are jealous, Loki, for have not lain you, or any Jötnar, or any of my husband’s sons or many of the males here. And I have never lain with a mortal, Trickster, of that you may be sure.”
Lady Freyja, full of fire and grace, most beautiful, most wanted, great Lady Freyja. Her stomach would swell but not with me. And from her a child, most beautiful, would grow in hatred, but resent it so that she would love those around her.
Third: Daughter of Freyja
Every other, when Chrysanta walked from her poly-sci class to her music theory, she saw a tall dark haired boy walking from the library to one of the outlying buildings on Campus. She watched him for about a month, trying to figure out what about him seemed so familiar, and why he would turn away every time their eyes almost met. Finally, one day when her teacher for music theory was going to be out, Chrysanta walked up to the tall, dark stranger and stuck her hand out in front of him.
“Hi, I’m Chrysanta Hume.” He stared between her hand and her face, long enough for her to count to twenty in her head, before he finally took her hand firmly in his.
“Rand Siggurdsson, nice to meet you.”
“You want to get some coffee at the school shop?” she asked. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Sure.”
As it turned out, they both ordered tea; Rand took his with extra honey. When they settled in an abandoned corner of the small coffee shop, they engaged mostly at taking small sips of the hot tea for a few minutes.
“So,” Chrysanta said, finally working up her courage. “Can you feel it too?” Rand blinked at her, making Chrysanta quickly amend the statement, “I mean, are you like me?”
“I’m not Greek, if that’s what you’re asking,” he retorted, a smile quirking at the edge of his lips. “And yes, I can feel you. There are days when you feel like a furnace, even from a distance.”
“Really, how did you stand it?” Chrysanta said.
“I couldn’t really, that’s why I tried to distance us, especially since I’m attracted to you,” he said, holding his cup to his lips.
“Uh, thanks?” she spat, taking another drink of her tea. Rand swallowed his quickly.
“No, it’s not like that—you are really beautiful; don’t get me wrong, but females as a sex in general don’t do much for me.”
“Oh…” she said. What would one of the mighty gods of the north say if they knew they had sired a gay son? She giggled a little at the thought. “That’s okay; at least you didn’t mistake me for a daughter of Aphrodite.” Rand nodded along, like the same thing had happened to him before.
“The Greeks can’t be blamed. Their cousins are everywhere, it makes sense that they think we’re one of them. After all, you don’t really hear about the Aesir making too many half-mortal children, and you have yet to be mistaken for a faerie.”
“Technically, my mother is a Vanir.” Chrysanta smiled, pushing her now empty cup away from her. “So, when did they tell you? Mother waited until I was sixteen, if you can believe that.” Rand stiffened, and a dent formed in his paper cup.
“The All-Father told me when I was ten,” he said. “But it’s not that great. I really wish I didn’t know. I wish they didn’t know too.” Chrysanta leaned across the table, taking both his hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “You’re…projecting again. It feels like there’s a blazing fire in front of me.” Chrysanta squeezed a little less tightly, and he squeezed back. “What do I feel like, to you?”
Chrysanta hesitated, not quite sure she could tell what he seemed like, his aura so gentle and controlled that she really had to think to reach out and touch it. It took her a minute, but finally something sweet and damp assaulted her nose.
“You smell like the rain, Rand.”
The more I think of where I came from, the more weight bears down on my shoulders. I feel, a destiny, coming for me, something I am not prepared for, nor want any part of. Meeting Chrysanta felt like taking a giant leap closer to doing whatever had been set out for me before I was born.
Cheering and roaring broke out in the hall again, but the Lord Odin held up his hands, and the roar died. “And why have you never gone to bed with a mortal my dear?” Though bound in their marriage vows, Odin and Freyja both took many lovers.
“I have never heard that a mortal would be a good lover—the tales only tell of them slaying beasts and fighting their way to glory, never, truly, of their ways in a woman’s bed,” Freyja said.
“Perhaps you should do less listening, and more doing, my dear,” was Odin’s reply.
“Are you suggesting, my lord, that any mortal man could match the caliber of a man here?” Before the cheer could arise, Odin spoke,
“I say, they are not as terrible as you chose to believe. Let us make a bargain; tonight we shall both depart to Midgard, wherein we shall find each a mortal and take them to bed with us. If you can find one so horrible you shall win a boon from me, and if I cannot find one so fantastic, you shall win a boon from me.”
“I have never heard that a mortal would be a good lover—the tales only tell of them slaying beasts and fighting their way to glory, never, truly, of their ways in a woman’s bed,” Freyja said.
“Perhaps you should do less listening, and more doing, my dear,” was Odin’s reply.
“Are you suggesting, my lord, that any mortal man could match the caliber of a man here?” Before the cheer could arise, Odin spoke,
“I say, they are not as terrible as you chose to believe. Let us make a bargain; tonight we shall both depart to Midgard, wherein we shall find each a mortal and take them to bed with us. If you can find one so horrible you shall win a boon from me, and if I cannot find one so fantastic, you shall win a boon from me.”
Odin, the wise, the magical, the wander, All-Father, but not my father, not the man who came to my mother some twenty years ago, and made her swell with child. Your son is more like you, and your other sons, the many ways that you are.
Fourth: Son of Odin
The door, like most in the doors, was plain, pine wood, with small, metal numbers nailed in close to the top. There was a white board off to one side, defaced with a penis, a color coded schedule just above it, also defaced with a penis, and a name plate denoting that Michael Hemsworth lived in this dorm room. There was nothing on the other side of the door, which made Axel wonder if he had gotten the right room, but when he knocked, he heard the distinctive voice that could only belong to Rand.
He twisted the knob, and took in the room before he saw Rand sitting at his desk, looking over some charts about how children responded intellectually to the Muppets or something like that.
“You’re roots are showing,” he said. Rand looked up, frowning.
“How did you find out where I live?” Rand had kept it a secret since Chrysanta had introduced them a year ago, because Axel loved nothing more than to pick on every detail of Rand’s existence.
“I told housing and res life that I found something of yours and wanted to return it, and they gave you up pretty quickly,” Axel explained. He spun out the chair from the other desk, and sat so he could look at Rand easily. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“It must be important if you tracked me down to annoy me,” Rand said, still frowning. “All right, shoot.”
“I need you to tell me who your father is.” Silence held in the room and Rand looked him straight in the eye to say,
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?” Axel asked, trying to keep his voice as even as he could. “You haven’t told Chrysanta either, and you guys have been friends since freshman year, over two years now.” Rand sighed, standing up to turn his chair around instead of twisting himself to look at Axel. He sat down again, slumping himself over so that he could rest his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands together.
“The All-Father made me swear not to,” Rand replied. “When he came to tell me what I was, when I was ten years old, he made me swear an oath in the old tongue, never to reveal who my father was. And I haven’t ever.”
“Why would Father do that?” Axel asked.
“He said it was to protect mother and I from the retribution that would surely come from some members of Asgard should they know who he was. I think it was also to protect his and my father’s reputation. I’ve often thought that it was because of the bet Lord Odin and Lady Freya made that Father chose to come down and…well, I can’t say much more. I can feel the oath pressing down on me. And besides, who am I to speculate on why the gods do things?”
Axel opened his mouth, but only allowed a breath of air to escape before he closed it again. Rand looked up at him and snorted. “It’s not Lord Odin, in case you were wonder, or Lady Freya.”
“Loki?” Axel asked, causing Rand to burst out laughing.
“Loki and Odin may be blood brothers, but think of all the trouble they’ve caused for each other over the years. He wouldn’t protect a child of Loki, even if it was to protect himself too.”
“Is there a child of Loki?” Axel asked. Rand smiled, and raised a finger to his lips. “Right, demi-gods stick together. It’s a good thing Father took off after he explained everything, imagine what would have happened if he found out from me.”
“Bad things, for you at least.” Rand’s smiled faded quickly from him. “What did you mean when you said you needed me to tell you?” Now Axel ducked his head. “Axel, tell me, or I’m getting Chrysanta to guilt it out of you.”
“I keep having visions,” Axel blurted out before he could stop himself. “They’re always brief, but there are things that are always the same: the sun is setting and the gods lay defeated on the ground unable to get up, and Loki stands over them laughing. Then someone reaches for a hammer, and then the vision ends. They feel like they’re getting closer and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But I thought if I could find the hammer person, it would be all right, somehow.”
“And the obvious didn’t come to mind?” Rand asked.
“It wasn’t Thor,” Axel said. “The way my visions work…I just would have known.”
“…Have you told the All-Father?” Rand asked.
“He says he has seen no such vision, but still, it worries me, Rand, that something like that could come about, that the gods, our parents could actually fall. Imagine what Loki would do to us if he actually succeeded.” Rand shivered with Axel—they as the sons of Loki’s most ardent enemies would surely be destroyed.
“Then let us pray such a thing does not come to pass,” Rand said, gripping Axel’s forearm.
“Let us pray,” Axel replied, gripping back with a godling’s strength.
I should say that this story is inspired by the written works of Neil Gaiman, Rick Riordin and a girl in my Creative Writing Class, who won't be named for privacy reasons, but wrote an awesome poem influence by Greek Mythology.
3/1/11 WC: 2,566
Total Project Count: 2566
Reading for Tonight: Push Comes to Shove by Maud Lavin
