Bright Segment (45 page)

“To … to tell thee …” Again that shocking hiss, and the gasp. “Did thee never love me, Borga?”

Now she laughed. It was not pleasant. “Well thee knows! I spurned thee always! Thee wanted not me. Thee wanted an amusement, something different—a sorceress who was a daughter of the Giant vizier.”

Loki’s voice said, slyly,
“Always?”

She began to speak, then stopped, pale. “What do thee mean?”

Hugin laughed. It was chilling. “Did thee enjoy Balder?”

“How dare …” and then she was overcome by what seemed to be curiosity. “How did you know?”

“What let thee think Balder would notice such as thee?” Hugin
jeered harshly. “Stupid! to lull thyself into believing Balder would court and cozen and bargain for such coarse flesh as thine! The veriest sparrow could have told thee about guileless Balder, were it not for thy blinding conceit!”

“But he did! He did!” she wailed. “And he made my head swim so … and he came so close, and then put me by and asked that of me that no Giant must ever share with the Aesir … and I refused, and closer again he came … and he said he loved … and I, I was lost, and I told him the Great Secret of Mimir, and then he took me, laughing …”

She burst into a wild weeping, which was drowned out by a cascade of coarse laughter, echoing round and round the room.

While it still echoed, Hugin snatched out his beak and whispered to Munin, “Can thee mimic Balder?”

“Ay,” said Munin, “but ’twould be a desecration!”

“Desecrate away, friend parrot. We have this pullet’s neck on the block.”

“What must I say?”

“Some Aesir love-making nonsense.”

Munin put his beak into the jar, and Balder’s voice, hollowed by the resonant glass, rang out: “Beloved, thy limbs glow, nay, they dazzle me. Hide thyself in mine arms quickly. I die, I wither away standing so near the sun.…”

“Balder!”
she shrieked.

On the second syllable Hugin had pulled Munin’s beak out and thrust in his own, and was again making that jarring, jeering laughter. “Na, na, not Balder; Loki, who swore to have thee whether thee’d have him or not. Loki, who fought Herindal in the shape of a seal. Loki, who can take any shape he chooses—ay, and any sorceress! It was I, I, Loki ye bedded with, thinking it was Balder—ay, and ye enjoyed it, crone!

“It was I who stole thy Secret of Secrets, not Balder. And when next thee saw Balder, thee went to him mouthing and simpering, and thee took his honest innocence as a spurning. And for that thee killed him, that and for fear that he’d tell your Secret! Do you see what thee’ve done, thou thick-witted slut? Thee killed bright Balder for
bedding thee when he did not; for spurning thee which he did not; and for possessing a Secret which thee never told him!”

She stumbled across to the bed and crouched on the edge of it, gasping as if she had been whipped. Slowly, then, she looked up, and she had a crooked smile on her face. She forced words out between her teeth:

“Then, Loki, for the crime I have done, I am free, and thee hang in the pit. For what thee led me to do, all the world accuses thee. Hang there, then; thy punishment is just!”

Hugin pulled out his beak and almost comically scratched his head with his claw.

Munin whispered, “What is this Secret?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I must think.” He closed his eyes tight.

Munin was painfully reminded of the night Balder was killed, when Hugin went into this kind of trance and would say nothing until he had thought it all out. He glanced down. Borga the sorceress was waiting, breathing heavily.

Abruptly Hugin slid his beak into the jar again, and Loki’s ghostly tones emerged. “The Secret …”

For a moment Borga was absolutely still. Then she flung her head up. “What of the Secret?”

Hugin said nothing.

Borga whimpered, “Thee … thee haven’t told the Aesir?”

Hugin intoned, “Think thee I have?”

“No,” she whispered, “No, we … we would know. This is very … brave,” she said with difficulty. “If thee told, they’d free thee.”

“And come for thee,” Hugin hazarded.

“Ay.” She shivered. “If the Giants leave anything of me.”

“So which is it to be, Borga?”

“I don’t … understand.”

Munin saw Hugin’s eyes squeeze tight shut for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll draw thee a problem, and thee may tell me if it is correctly stated. Stay in thy chamber for as long as thy safety lasts, and I shall assuredly tell the Aesir all I know. When the Giants hear of
it they will kill thee. Or—”

“No!” she cried.

“Or,” he went on relentlessly, “come to Gladsheim and confess to Odin that thee murdered Balder. I shall be freed and banished and thee will die.”

“Either way, I die!”

“Ay. But there is this difference. Free me, and the Aesir never know the Secret. They will be content with their murderer. At least thee can make amends for thy stupidity without damage to the Giants.”

She was silent a long time. Then she said, “Devil!” in a way which must have hurt her throat. After that, “When … when must I—”

“It will take thee three days to reach Gladsheim. On the fourth dawn from tomorrow’s, I shall tell Odin the Secret or I shall greet thee. Choose.”

She clutched her hands tight against her face for a moment, and then lowered them. She said calmly, “I will go, then.”

She is brave, thought Munin. She is foolish and in some ways stupid, but she is brave.

But the Secret—the Secret; what of that? Munin looked anxiously at Hugin.

Hugin’s eyes were screwed shut again. At length he said, in Loki’s voice, “And when I am free, how can thee be sure I will not tell the Aesir our little Secret after all?”

“Thee wouldn’t! Thy fealty’s with us! Thee’s a Giant!”

“Only half, Borga. Thee’ll just have to trust me.”

“Ay,” she said, her expression cloaked, but her eyes hot, “we’ll trust thee.”

“Then farewell, Borga.” And suddenly, in a strained tone,
“I have suffered enough!”

Ay, thought Munin, that would be Loki’s way. Always a flash of drama. He drew Hugin close. “What of the Secret? Can we learn it?”

In answer, Hugin pointed. Borga had moved to a table; she was drawing out a sheet of foolscap, a quill, ink. She sat down to write.

“To Omir, her father the Giant vizier,” Munin whispered. With a bird’s eye and more memories than the human race, he could read
it easily.
“ ‘This is goodbye, father, and a wish that I could be mourned, but I cannot. Know then that I was tricked by Loki in ways I am too ashamed to write here; that through this I, yes, I, father, killed Balder; and that I have done the greatest evil of all in revealing to Loki the Secret of Mimir. I go now to Gladsheim to die for the useless murder, and Loki will be freed. See that he dies, for he cannot be trusted. Do not pursue me nor change this plan in any particular, lest the Giants lose the field at Ragnarok.’ ”

“Shall we take the paper?” whispered Munin when she had done.

“We need it not. Come.” Hugin seemed about to burst with joy.

V

Silently they crept along the shelf to the fire hole and squirmed through it to the brooding night of Jotunheim. Together they took wing.

Ah, like the old days; to Odin, together!
thought Munin joyfully.

“Thee have made thy point, good Hugin,” he said, when they were over halfling country. “The facts I had never added up to the yield of your thought. How? How could you do it?”

“By flights above fact,” said Hugin, “and the gathering of the facts below … Now, when first thee told me the story of Balder’s death, thought took me to a path wherein Loki, though an instrument, was not actually guilty. Following this, I could assume that if Loki were innocent, the strange woman at the feast was not Loki disguised, but a stranger.

“What kind of stranger? A Giant, bearing some small charm to keep us from detecting her. You will, friend Munin, of course remember that she did not appear at the feast until Loki was cast out. He would have detected her, spell or no spell, half-Giant that he is. She stayed hidden, probably in the crowd.

“And we know, too, that she arrived to find Balder apparently invulnerable, and that she skilfully pressed Frigga to reveal her oversight with the mistletoe. The rest of this woman’s work was seen by all.”

“But,” Munin objected, “how did thee conclude it was truly a woman?”

“Because at the outset it seemed a woman’s crime. If a man is killed and has no known enemies, and especially if there is no obvious gain from his death, then the heart is involved somewhere.

“Balder, however, was not as other men, other gods. If he spurned anyone, it was in innocence and without intent, and the whole world knew that. Hence his death had to be for two reasons—because of a woman’s scorn, and because of something else. It is easy to visualize a smitten lady killing herself over Balder; it is inconceivable that she would kill Balder unless something else were involved.”

“What led thee to Borga?”

“The noisiest clue of all, Munin. It was she alone who would not weep for him. This is one thing all Asgard overlooked because suspicion of Loki was so strong—just as all Asgard has forgotten that Loki wept.

“So once we were led to Borga, we had merely to let her conscience work in our favor. The voice of Loki in her room spoke never from knowledge, save what she supplied. And so we forced her to confess, and further, to give herself up.”

“Thee, not we,” said Munin reverently. “And what of the Secret?”

“We do not know it completely, but we know enough. Borga wrote, … 
lest the Giants lose at Ragnarok
. And that is sufficient, from what thee’ve told me—it is word straight from the heart of the Giant domain that such a thing is possible, the first since Odin entered the Well of Mimir the Wise, in the dawn of time.”

“Mimir … he is a Giant!” cried Munin, fluttering excitedly. “And it must be one false seed he slipped amongst the treasures he gave Odin! And Odin—good Odin—never doubted it!”

“As was said by our false Loki,” chuckled Hugin, “ ‘
I have suffered enough!’
We shall take a weight from the sky-father, friend Munin. Perhaps he will wish to confront Mimir with the lie—that great tragic lie that the Giants must win the field at Ragnarok. But thought tells me he need not: Fate never dictated the doom of Asgard.”

“Will Asgard be victorious then?”

“The Aesir will win if they fight best, and that is all they would ever wish.”

Before them spread the frontiers of Asgard. Happily they flew—
Munin, who bore seven thousand years of doom and mourning, seeing now a return to the great days, and Hugin, who bothered himself not with memories, content that hereafter he would be the one to speak to the sky-father.

*   *   *

Joy is now joy in Asgard, with its ale and its heady mead, the singing and the wild hard laughter. Clink and clatter and clash ring the arms; whip and whicker and thud, the arrows. Sinews are tuned and toned and honed and hardened, and speech is mighty, and much of the measureless night belongs to the unearthly yielding of the Aesir goddesses, whose limbs are magic.

Here are the heroes of Earth, here the dazzle-winged Valkyrs; here in the halls of forever they feast and fight and find that which mortality is too brief and too fragile to grant.

The Aesir are made for joy and the heroes have earned it, and their joys are builded of battle, and to battle they build. The battle they face is the battle of Ragnarok. They will fight the Giants at Ragnarok. They will dare death at Ragnarok …

 … and there
they need not die!

F
EELING NUMB
, I put the phone down. I’ve got to get out of here, I thought. I’ve got to go ask old Frozen Face. I’ve got to get home.

But there was the old man, just that minute coming out of his office. For the first time, I was glad he’d put my desk out there in front of the golden-oak slab of his door, like a welcome mat. I looked up at him and I guess I looked anxious.

He stopped beside me. “Something wrong?”

I wet my lips, but I couldn’t say anything. Stupid! Why shouldn’t I be able to say
I’ve got to get out of here!

“The kid?”

“Yes,” I said. “We have to take her in this afternoon.”

“Well, get out of here,” he said brusquely.

I stood up. I couldn’t look at him. “Thanks.”

“Shaddap,” he said gruffly. “Call up if you need anything.”

“I won’t need anything.” Except courage. Faith, if you like. And whatever kind of hypocrisy it takes to conceal from a child how scared you are.

I reached for my hat. Old Frozen Face just stood there. I looked back from the outer door and he was still there, staring at the place where I’d been.

I almost yelled at him some explosive, blathering series of syllables that would in some way explain to him that I’m not a freak; look at the creases in my blue pants; look at my shoeshine, just the same as yours; look how my hairline’s receding—look, look, I’ve got heartburn and lumps in my throat!

At the same time, I wanted to yell something else, something about, yes, you were kind to me because you know what’s with me, with my kid; but you can’t know how it is. With you, I’m once removed from anything you could feel, like the Hundred Neediest
Cases in the newspaper at Christmas. You believe it, sure, but you can’t know how it is.

So with one inner voice saying I’m what you are and another saying You can’t know how it is, I let them crash together and silence one another, and said nothing, but made the frosted glass door swing shut and walked over to the elevators.

I had to wait and that seemed wrong. I looked at the indicators, and saw that all of the cars were running, and that seemed wrong, too. Everything else ought to stop except one car for me and it ought to be here now! I stood there realizing how irrational all this was, but fuming anyway.

Behind me, I heard
thunk
-pat,
thunk
-pat, and from the corner of my eye saw it was Bernie Pitt on his crutches. I turned very slightly so my back was to him. Bernie is a very nice guy, but I just didn’t want to talk to anybody. It was as if talking to somebody would slow up the elevator.