22: How 'Bout Them Apples?

Thoki’s inched towards Hermes until his hand was right under the Greek’s menacing shadow. From there on, Thoki shut his eyes tightly and held his breath. His hand made contact with warm flesh but something was wrong. This didn’t seem like Hermes’s hand. It was too… small. He also heard sounds of a struggle which made his eyes open again. Looking down at his hand he saw it clasped in a small slender woman’s hand. Not even Hermes could be that effeminate if he tried so Thoki decided it must belong to a woman.  He followed the hand up a white arm which was floating in midair.

Thoki screamed and let go of the hand, eyeing the floating arm in horror. Slowly the arm’s owner melted into sight amidst a chorus of laughter.

                “ERIS!” shouted Thoki in delight.

                “You should have seen the look on your face,” Eris screamed mirthfully. She was now dressed like private-school jailbait in a tiny pleated plaid skirt, white blouse and necktie.

                Thoki was relieved to see her but was holding his head as though it would explode. “I’m so sick of these deus ex machina! Can’t anyone show up sooner than ‘in the nick of time’? I’m going to have a heart attack.”

                “Aw, you’re so cute when you do the pouty face!” cooed Eris, grinning.

                “What’s going on with ‘the Spanakopita Brothers’ over there?” asked Thoki grinning.

                “They’re fighting over another of my golden lovelies. Even the gods themselves can’t resist ‘em,” said Eris. She waved her golden ipod at Thoki and he watched Hermes and Apollo wrestling on the floor like teenagers.  Currently Apollo had a hold of an identical golden MP3 player and Hermes was trying to pry his fingers off it.

                “Cow theif!” shouted Apollo, clocking Hermes on the head.

                “Ass-grabber!” Hermes retaliated, jumping on his brother’s chest.

                “Liar!”

                “Nympho!”

                “Goat-father!”

                “Tree-fucker!”

                “Wow, they really want that iPod,” said Thoki watching them with the clinical air of an interested gambler.

                “Well not everyone sees my golden iPods as iPods. It usually shows up as whatever the person really wants,” said Eris.

                “What do Apollo and Hermes see?”

                “iPods. When I say ‘not everyone’ I meant, ‘almost everyone’. It’s funny. People really like iPods.”

                “So, shall we go?” asked Thoki with a Grin.

                “Yeah, get your giant and your horse and let’s go.”

                “Brother.”

                “Huh?” asked Eris.

                “The horse— he’s my brother.”

                “The snake or the wolf?” asked Eris eyeing the octopedal grey stallion nervously.

                “No he’s my younger brother, the one we weren’t allowed to talk about. He was the black sheep, well white sheep, more like.”

                “He’s a horse.”

                “Yeah?”

                “He’s not a sheep.”

                Thoki shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears. Apparently Eris was on another hyper up-swing. Since the Greek brothers were now in a slapping match a sudden thought occurred to him.

                “I don’t suppose we could… uh…” his eyes shifted towards the empty kitchen. “Y’know. Just a quick one before we leave?”

                “What, NOW? Boy, you really know how to sweet-talk a lady, dontcha half-pint,” said Eris with a hard stare.

                Thoki looked at his shoes.  “Yeah, I guess we’re in a rush.”

                “Uh, YA THINK?” said Eris, slapping her head and rolling her eyes.  “Men!” she grunted

                Thoki tried to fight the blush attacking his face as he ran to the couch and tried to rouse Lor.

                “Hey, buddy. We got to get out of here. I need you to get up, ‘kay?”

                Lor’s crusted eyes slowly opened and he turned a yellow eye towards Thoki. “I think I’ll stay here just the same, thank you.”

                Thoki fought the roiling pit opening up in his stomach. “C’mon, this is serious. I really need you to try, alright?”

                Lor’s baleful stare didn’t flicker as he pondered this. “I understand, Thoki. You should go while you still can. I’ll manage well enough.”

                Lor had never lied to Thoki— he didn’t have the imagination for it— but something about his last sentence made Thoki think Lor wasn’t being entirely honest with him.

                “Thoki! Hey Thoki!” came Eris’s voice behind him, sounding amused. Thoki ignored her.

                “Lor, you’ve got to try, buddy,” said Thoki with a shaking voice. “It’s just until we get downstairs and then we’ll hail a cab or something… alright?”

                “Hey, Thoki! Thoki!” came Eris again.

                “No thanks, Thoki. You have fun looking for that chaos thing. I hope you find whatever it was,” said Lor with a half a smile.

                “Thoki! Look! Look, Thoki! Thoki!” Eris persisted cheerfully.

                “Lor, you can’t give up on me! Why do you think I had to rescue you and take care of you? I can’t do this without you, buddy. Please. Don’t give up yet.”

                “Thoki! Thoki! Thoki! Look, Thoki! Look!”

                “You really want me to come?” asked Lor.

                “Thoki! Hey! Look! Look, Thoki! Thoki!”

                “Yes— WOULD YOU SHUT UP ALREADY, ERIS? WHAT IS IT???” shouted Thoki, whipping around to face her.

                Eris was using her magic to appear like a sprite made of pixels on the dead Television screen in the corner.

                “Look! I’m a Deus Ex Machina! Get it? I’m a god and I’m in a Machine!” she chirped.

                “Hilarious,” said Thoki icily.

                “So you guys done with your little sissy drama yet, or should I come back later?” said Eris.

                “He can’t move, Eris,” sighed Thoki. We can’t get him downstairs.

                “Who said we were going downstairs?” said Eris. “I can take us with my powers.”

                “You can?” shouted Thoki.

                “Hellooooo? Goddess?”

                “Why didn’t you just say so— and don’t say because I never asked because I feel like hitting something!”

                Eris stared at him without moving.

                “Well?”

                “You said not to say it,” said Eris.

                Thoki’s eyes suddenly widened to the size of ping-pong balls as a thought occurred to him. “You’re the goddess of dischord!”

                “Yes. How d’you do,” said Eris, bemused.

                “YOU’RE AN AGENT OF CHAOS!!” screamed Thoki.

                “Took you long enough,” said Eris with a wry smile. She snapped her fingers and there was a flash of light with the smell of burning ozone. Hermes and Apollo, were knocked out of their frenzied tussle to see the room suddenly devoid of one former demi-god, one giant, and one 8-legged horse.

                “What just happened?” asked Hermes rubbing his head. There were a few large lumps on it, and his nose felt broken again. He looked over at his brother who was rubbing his jaw and blinking through a black eye.

                “I dunno,” said Apollo using his rod to heal a broken finger.

                Hermes’s eyes darted around the room and landed on the golden iPod near Apollo’s knee.

                He spat out a tooth before spitting out the name, “ERIS!”

Part 21: Snakes and Staffs

Thoki cursed and threw the King James Bible against the wall where it dented the plaster and slithered to the floor like a brained bird. He’d read it from Genesis to Revelations; he’d also read the Koran and the Torah, and even the Morman book of Moses, but he was no closer to finding what he was looking for.

“I’ll never find it!” he moaned banging his head on the table in despair.

There was a nicker from Slepnir’s direction and Thoki looked at his brother. Slepnir was looking haggard these days from lack of sleep and his current diet of decaying plywood and the living room sofa. Thoki reached out a hand and pet Slepnir’s velvety nose. The horse seemed to calm a little and his ears relaxed for the first time in ages.

                “Your brother’s a clueless moron, you know that,” said Thoki.

                Slepnir’s gave a non-committal toss of his head as if to say, “Yes you are, but there’s no point in getting depressed.”

                Thoki gave a hopeless hollow laugh and glanced at Lor sleeping peacefully on the sofa. He’d been lying there for six days now and while his wounds seemed to have cleared up, the giant was listless and pale. He’d wake up for a few hours, eat and then go to sleep again. It was beginning to worry Thoki, and he was powerless to do anything. Lor was far too big to move, even with Slepnir’s help. Lor had expended the last of his energy just getting here. Now in this fetid, vermin-infested, poisonous apartment, he was slowly losing whatever battle raged inside his massive body.

                Thoki sighed and got to his feet. After trying to rouse Lor from his sleep with little success, he began to fall back into his recent habit of pacing. He prowled through the living room, kicking up dust and insects from the rotting carpet. Slepnir watched him with the mild interest of someone whose only source of entertainment had been counting his legs.  

                “What am I doing?” Thoki muttered. “I’m busy trying to find some stupid place that might not even be on Earth and it doesn’t matter because if I could even figure out where the hell it is I can’t go because my giant can’t move.”

                “Well that does put you in an awkward position, doesn’t it?” said the familiar drawl of a continental gentleman.

                “Hello, Hermes,” said Thoki without even looking around.

                “I’ve brought a friend today,” said Hermes.

                With a heavy sigh, and a depressed acceptance of the death that was to come Thoki looked up.

                Hermes was grinning wickedly. He didn’t have the battle scars on him from his last encounter with Thoki. The last time Thoki had seen him, he was sporting broken ribs, a hurt leg and a crushed nose. Now he looked as fit and dapper as ever in his designer jeans, silk blouse and navy military jacket. Next to him was another olive-skinned aquiline-nosed god. Thoki gazed into a handsome face that was gorgeous almost to the point of freakishness. His full lips, golden eyes, curly blond hair, strong chin— they seemed to be cartoonish on a real face. Thoki felt a hot flush rise to his face which made him furious. He knew exactly who he was looking at. The staff in the god’s hand, a golden scepter with a snake wrapped around it explained everything, including Hermes’s miraculous recovery.

                “Apollo, I presume.”

                “Yes,” said the god in a deep soap-opera voice.

                Good grief; he sounds like an old Superman cartoon, thought Thoki with a frown.

                “To what do I owe this pleasure… and with such an item as that?” Thoki asked, eyeing the staff hungrily.

                “You know what this is?” asked Hermes lightly, his smile widening.

                Thoki nodded. It was the magical Rod of Asclepius—once belonging to Apollo’s son Asclepius, the world’s greatest doctor. It was said to cure all wounds, and in Asclepius’s hands it could bring the dead to life. For that hubris Apollo’s son was sentenced to death by Zeus himself.

                “And you know what it’s capable of?” asked Hermes.

                Again Thoki nodded and his eyes swiveled to look at Lor again. “What do you want?” he asked, his throat suddenly dry.

                “We couldn’t help but notice that your hairy friend over there isn’t doing so well,” said Hermes.

                “He’s just a bit under the weather,” said Thoki beginning to sweat, he had an inkling of what was coming next.

                “Don’t bother lying to me. Apollo is a God of medicine himself, aren’t you brother?”

                Apollo nodded his golden head but said nothing.

                “He’s dying, Thoki,” said Hermes simply.

                Thoki nodded dumbly as he fought the bile in his throat and tried to stay upright.

                “So now he’s out of the way, you can win?” gasped Thoki. “Lor’s down for the count so you come here with your big brother and his magic stick to even the odds.”

                Hermes blinked before regarding Thoki in disappointed bemusement.

                “Are you being deliberately obtuse or are you really just thick?”

                “If I say it’s the latter will you promise not to break my nose again?” moaned Thoki. “Seriously. Why are you here? I guess if you were going to kick my ass you’d have done it by now, but… you know… the trickster tendency to go off on ADD tangents is hard to override.”

                “Fair enough,” said Hermes. “Yes, I fully intend to get my revenge on you… but I’ve been instructed to do otherwise… for the moment…by my associates.  I’m here to offer you a bargain.”

Slepnir’s ears cocked upwards and he raised his head to look at the three of them.

“Go on,” said Thoki. He was nervous. Hermes was the god of diplomats and compromise as well. The bastard could turn on the charm if he had to, and also knew when to press his advantage.

“Apollo here will heal your giant if you swear a solemn oath not to seek Isfat.”

“And if I don’t?” asked Thoki, a cold sweat attacking his neck and the backs of his knees.

“Then your Jotun friend dies… and you’ll be much easier to pick off by yourself,” said Hermes calmly. He fingered his own staff, the caduceus, the double-snake staff of negotiation.

Thoki looked back at his friend. Lor hadn’t stirred through the entire exchange; his shallow breathing and pasty face told Thoki that Hermes spoke the truth.

It’s over, he told himself. There’s nothing left.

The realization came as somewhat of a relief after all this internal conflict. He would never find Isfat now, but now he had other things in front of him. He might even get to get a real life after this. Maybe this promise would silence all those delusions of grandeur and malcontent that screamed at him in the night. He could just be Thoki Lokison, a boring uninteresting short man who dreamed of nothing more ambitious than pancakes with bacon.

“Alright,” he said quietly nodding.

Apollo began his manly stride towards the sofa where Lor lay when Thoki shouted out to him.

“On one condition!” he shouted.

“I make the conditions, brat,” sniffed Hermes.

“It’s just a little thing,” he said.

“This means you don’t try to snuff me out later, got it?”

Hermes tried to look bored, but Thoki saw a flicker of relief behind his olive face. With Lor back in the pink Hermes didn’t relish getting his ass handed to him again by the behemoth.

“It’s a deal. Shake on it,” he added in a low stern voice.

Thoki took a deep gulp of breath and walked towards the outstretched hand smelling of cologne and espresso.

Ep 15: The Fourth Son

Recap: Thoki wants to get to the obelisk of Heliopolis to see if there are any clues to finding ISFAT, the primordial chaos. Hermes and Robin Goodfellow are trying to stop Thoki from realizing his plan ; they’re worried that ISFAT could undo the fabric of reality. Currently Hermes has Lor in his sway with the help of a plush piglet named Mr. Babbington.

Hermes waved the plush piglet tantalizingly in front of Lor. Lor’s tiny currant eyes were alight with child-like wonder.

“That’s right, Lor. Be a good giant and put Thoki down. Then you and Mr. Babbington can go play,” he said in his deep musical voice.

Lor seemed powerless to object as his large hammy hand reached onto his shoulder and lifted Thoki by the collar of his shirt.

“WOAH! HEY! PUT ME DOWN!” screamed Thoki fighting both Lor’s hand and his strangling collar. “Lor!” he pleaded, “Don’t listen to him! Snap out of it, buddy!” Lor’s arm continued in its slow deliberate arc towards the steps where Hermes and Goodfellow were waiting.

“That’s it, Lor. Mr. Babbington is very pleased,” said Hermes watching Thoki eagerly. A dark delight was stealing over his handsome features and his eyes flickered dangerously. Thoki glared at the Greek with unadulterated hatred.

Alright, you feather-footed freak, Thoki thought. Two can play this psychotic game.

“Lor! Don’t do it! It’s a trap!” cried Thoki.

Lor actually paused this time. “Trap?”

“Can’t you see that their forcing Mr. Babbington to say those things?” moaned Thoki in an overly theatrical voice.

“They are?” asked Lor, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” hissed Hermes, frowning.

“Mr. Babbington is their prisoner, Lor!” Thoki wailed like a sibyl.

“No he’s not!” insisted Hermes in a childish whine.

A sudden thought struck Thoki and he manipulated his voice to sound high and squeaky. (It also had a British accent for some reason.) “It’s too late for me, Lor! Save yourself!”

“Mr. Babbington?” cried Lor aghast. His eyes began to tear as he surveyed the little fluffy pig in Hermes’ hands. The Greek was staring at the doll in shock.

“But I—”

“Be brave Lor! This is how I want to go!” said Thoki in Mr. Babbington’s voice.

This was more than Lor could stand and the giant burst into noisy tears. Large drops cascaded down his cheeks and pooled in his thick red beard.  Unbeknownst to Hermes, despite the fact that Lor was mourning the fate of an inanimate pink piglet, a fire was slowly being banked in his stegosaurus-sized brain.

“Tell my wife I love her!”  squeaked Thoki, pushing Lor further. This time Lor went over the edge.

“YOU LEAVE MR. BABBINGTON ALONE!!!!” roared Lor.

Hermes didn’t have time to move out of the way before Lor swatted him 30 meters into an ornamental palm tree. The pig turned a few lazy circles in the air, before landing in the giant’s waiting hands.

“I’ve got you, friend!” cooed Lor, hugging the pig tightly.

“Well done, Lor,” laughed Thoki, grinning at Hermes trying to pick himself off the ground.

“Another crumpet, Mr. Crowley. I haven’t eaten since Rome Fell,” the God mumbled in Greek before giggling and falling over.

Thoki shook his head, before remembering that he had TWO tricksters to deal with.

“You want a taste, Puck?” Thoki snarled at the other.

“Not particularly. NOW!” shouted Goodfellow. A long white ribbon fell over Lor. Two shadowy figures darted out from behind the obelisk. Thoki recognized the American brothers, Raven and Coyote, as each grabbed a ribbon end and circled Lor like a maypole.

Lor was trapped in his embrace with Mr. Babbington as the cords bound his arms to his body. Thoki could only look on helplessly as Coyote and Raven pulled the ribbon taut. The brothers exchanged a high-five before joining Goodfellow. Oberon’s son took the ends with them and pulled until his muscular arms rippled like cooking bacon. In a few short moments, Lor had tumbled to the concrete.

Lor struggled and grunted against his bonds, but it was no use. Thoki was speechless. He had seen Lor break out of ropes before, even chains and those little plastic garbage-ties the police used (if he was given a few goes).  But this simple silk ribbon didn’t even stretch.

“What the hell did you tie him up with?” shouted Thoki.

“A special cord, Thoki,” said Hermes limping towards the other tricksters. “You might be familiar with it. It’s made from a cat’s footstep, a woman’s beard, the roots of a mountain, the sinew of a bear, the breath of a fish, and…”

“…The spittle of a bird,” finished Thoki feeling lightheaded. It was the cord that had bound his brother Fenrir all those years ago and kept him prisoner until Ragnarok. “Gleipnir,” he breathed.

“Yes,” said Hermes his face contorted with glee and pain. He was clutching his chest like a few ribs had been broken and his leg had taken a good deal of punishment as well.

“But how did you get Gleipnir?” asked Thoki.

“FROM ME,” came a raspy voice behind Thoki. Spinning around Thoki saw a large hulking shadow loping towards him. Thoki broke into a cold sweat as his eldest brother, Fenrir advanced on him. If Thoki thought Lor was huge, it was nothing compared to Fenrir. The wolf-man wasn’t much taller, but he seemed to take up so much space. His presence was like a black hole that sucked in all rational thought, leaving you petrified. You felt powerless to move or think — there was nothing to do but stare at him blankly until he ripped out your throat.

“Hello, runt,” said Fenrir through pointed canines.

“Hello Fe—” Thoki wasn’t given the chance to finish as Fenrir lunged for him. Thoki wasn’t ready, but some part of his brain was, for he leaped out of the way just in time to avoid his muscle-bound brother. Fenrir was strong, but slow, and it took him a moment to stop his momentum.  He managed to bank a wide turn before rounding on Thoki again but “the runt” was prepared this time.

Thoki leaped on top of one of the cement pylons around the obelisk and jumped over his brother. This time, Fenrir used the pylon to make a tight turn, ripping the post out of the ground as he did so. The four tricksters only just had time to jump out of the way as Thoki scrambled towards the Obelisk.  

He had intended to leap down again, before Fenrir could rally, but a glyph on the obelisk distracted him. There, in the ancient sandstone, nearly worn away from the wind and rain of the ages, was the word, ISFAT.

Thoki froze and tried to read the rest just as a large meaty hand slammed his face against the red rock. He felt a hot and cold sensation in his face along with a dull burning, and he knew his nose was broken. He felt something hard rolling around in his mouth and spit out a tooth. Thoki tried to make sense of what had just happened but everything was a swirling miasma in his head, muddled further by the wooshing sound in his ears.  Then he heard Fenrir’s laughter and remembered.

“Are you going to kill me?” asked Thoki.

“Probably,” said Fenrir. “You didn’t listen to my warning.”

“I’ve never listened to you,” said Thoki.

“True. I always had to do this, first,” said Fenrir, grabbing Thoki’s thin wrist and rotating the arm. There was a sickening snap of tendons and the scrape of bone against bone.

Thoki screamed. He’d tried to keep it in — he’d really tried —but the pain was more than he could bear and it burst out of his chest and went flying into the night sky.

Lor heard it and sobbed.

Hermes stopped laughing and succumbed to his own injuries.

Goodfellow covered his ears.

Raven and Coyote drew a little closer to each other — suddenly the night didn’t seem on their side anymore.

Even Fenrir blanched as the echoes of Thoki’s cry bounced off the huddled buildings and minarets. Slowly lights began to illuminate the windows. People were shouting into the darkness.

“Who’s out there?”

“Are you alright?”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“No! Call the police!”

Only seconds later there was the wail of sirens and the flash of cruiser lights.

The humans were taking the night back.

Fenrir, felt the unfamiliar paroxysms of fear and relaxed his grip on Thoki. Thoki struggled out of his hairy hands and ran. He’d only gotten a few feet when he remembered Lor strung up like a honey-baked ham and ran back. Thoki thrust his dislocated arm inside his open shirt to keep it from moving around as he jumped over pylons and wrought irons chains to the dais where the obelisk sat. Fenrir and the tricksters were gone, but Lor was still in a rolled-up heap on the concrete, struggling against the unbreakable ribbon.

“Hang on, Buddy, I’ll get you out!” said Thoki in a choked voice as his free hand struggled uselessly against the bonds. He heard voices shouting and Arabic and approaching footfalls. The humans were coming. He began to panic and tugged fruitlessly. Hot tears rolled down Thoki’s face, mingling with the congealing blood from his broken nose. He couldn’t even slip a finger under the cords.

“Go, Thoki! Take Mr. Babbington,” said Lor mournfully as his bulk strained against the ribbon to shift the pink piggy. Thoki pulled with tremendous effort and managed to get the toy out of Lor’s grip. Hope buoyed at the possibility that Lor might have some wiggle room now, but it was dashed as he heard the clatter of shoes surround him and the clicking of hand guns.

“Police! Freeze!” shouted a policeman.

Thoki sighed, rose to his feet and put his good hand in the air still holding Mr. Babbington, while the other flopped limply at his side.

“You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace, destruction of government property, and trespassing on national park grounds.”

Thoki nodded and stepped forward.

That was when he felt a sharp tug on the sleeve of his elevated hand. To his utter surprise (and the surprise of the policemen) he was pulled into the air. He felt the fibres of his loose cotton shirt start to tear and that’s when the dropping sensation took over. He was plummeting towards the obelisk when he felt his backside land on something hard, but pliant… and moving.

Daring to open his eyes again, Thoki realized that he was on a horse …and the horse was flying. Anxiously he looked around for a rider, expecting to find a Valkyrie behind him, but he was alone. A sudden thought struck him and with utmost care (made all the more imperative by the lack of a saddle) looked down to count the horse’s legs.

“One, two, three, four… five… six… seven… eight —SLEPNIR!!”  he shouted, hugging the Horse’s neck warmly. Thoki’s little brother, Slepnir the eight-legged horse, whinnied in response.

Ep 14: Mr. Babbington

Ratatosk scurried up the gnarled back as fast as his sharp claws would take him. Occasionally he’d pause and cock his head as if thinking, “Did I drop off the rent cheque.” Being a squirrel, however, rent cheques weren’t a concern and thus decided, he’d break into a run again, until he was simply a blur of red fur on the world tree, Ygdrassil.  He was going to insult Eagle today. That was his job. There was a constant war between the eagle roosting in the top branches of Ygdrassil, and the dragon eating the roots at the bottom. The two had never met, and each would probably have ignored the other if not for Ratatosk.  It was his job to run insults from one to the other. It had been fun at first, but the eagle and the dragon were sadly unimaginative when it came to hurling slurs. After nearly 3,000 years, it was getting old.

Currently they were stuck on “stupid head.” Ratatosk was about to deliver (for the 6,782,411^th time) the message, “no YOU’RE a stupid head” from the dragon.

On his various trips he saw things; things on Earth and things above and beneath it. And for Ratatosk, seeing was saying. It was impossible for him to think anything without saying it aloud. He’d scramble over root and twig uttering a constant babble of chatter. This, supposedly, was the beginning of rumours.

One month ago he’d seen something interesting, and had run on his trip downward muttering,

“Well, well, welly, well! Loki’s third son is on earth now! He broke out of Hel ages ago and has finally made it to Earth. He’s looking for The Chaos! I wonder what that will mean. I wonder if he knows what it would mean. “

A large clawed hand had snatched him off the bark and brought his twitching nose up to a hair face.

“What was that about my brother,” growled Fenrir.

Now, a month later, Ratatosk saw something else that made him chatter incessantly to himself.

“Loki’s fourth son is coming to Earth! Well well well!”

Ratatosk is one of the reasons why humans only just tolerate squirrels.

***********

“Are we ready?” asked Lor.

“Soon,” sighed Thoki. He hated this.

He’d been pondering  plots and plans all afternoon. Getting to the Obelisk would be tricky a second time, and this time Hermes and Goodfellow would be waiting for him (possibly with back up). Everything had jumped into his mind from disguises to distractions, to a zip-line suspended from minarets, but they all fizzled. Sadly “Lor running up and hitting people” was the strongest plan and the others didn’t even come close.

Thus resolved, they decided to wait for the cover of night. People might be assholes, or the gods might be invisible, but jailtime sucked and witnesses weren’t wanted.  Besides, he liked the night. Night was cooler, quieter, more intimate. It also didn’t make his face a livid lobster red (like it currently was). A break from UV bombardment would be nice too.

He’d stolen a new set of clothes (before his current outfit disintegrated entirely). They were a pair of new black jeans, and a white cotton tunic shirt. It was a cheesy souvenir “dress like a native” shirt, but Thoki felt comfortable with it. The style and the length felt like home, even if it smelled of baked air and SPF 50 (another “investment” of his). A leather belt in the middle and a new pair of shoes and he suddenly felt like a million dollars. All that was left as the sun sank was to keep the butterflies in his stomach down.

He started humming under his breath to keep his nerves under control. Most people would hum a classic tune like “Ride of the Valkyries.” Thoki didn’t see the point of that one. For one thing, Valkyries had simpler tastes in music, Wagner being seen by them as a blow-hard. Thoki’s mother, Sigunn had been a close friend of the Valkyrie Olrun and he knew for a FACT that the large woman’s favorite song was “Hey Mickey” by Toni Basil.

That was something that worried Thoki. The Valkyries were singing “Hey, Mickey you’re so fine. You’re so fine you blow my mind,” thousands of years before Toni Basil was even a zygote. The gods were playing baseball before America was colonized by white man. How was it that time seemed to bubble like that in the immortal plane? It was as if the gods existed for eons, while at the same time existing in the present and centuries into the future at the same time. Odin had only looked about fifty years old, while at the same time, he had been fifty for eternity, BUT (and this was the part that made his head ache) at the same time he’d lived for centuries for only fifty years.

Thoki shook his head to relieve the buzzing sensation of time-space theory trying to wrap itself around his brain.

Eventually he decided to hum something more his style under his breath:

“No more, Mr. Nice Guy… No more Mr. Cleeeeeean…”

“We ready now, Thoki?” asked Lor.

Thoki checked the window of the abandoned flat they were squatting in, the sun was now a thin line of pink icing on the cityscape and the white moon graced the sky like a careless watermark.

“Yeah, let’s go,” sighed Thoki, his bravado deflating.

***

He didn’t know why he thought the Obelisk would be unguarded. It wasn’t a real thought with any sense behind it. It would have been down-right stupid to expect it, but never-the-less upon seeing the two figures on the steps to the landmark, Thoki moaned.

“Crap.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Lor comfortingly. Without another word, he wrapped a meaty hand around Thoki’s torso and lifted the little man bodily off of the ground. Thoki winced at the tight grip but let Lor place him carefully on the giant’s meaty shoulders. He shifted his legs so that they dangled on each side Lor’s neck and got a grip on the ginger curls that rose chest high on him.

“All buckled up?” asked Lor.

“Yep,” answered Thoki in a thin voice.

The walked past the ornamental trees to the large pavement square, where the Obelisk loomed darkly in the night sky. Two figures stood in the moonlight. Hermes and Goodfellow were sitting on the dais steps as calmly as if they were waiting for a ride. It appeared there was no one else waiting with them.

This made Thoki insanely worried.

Lor had wiped the floor with those two tricksters without even breaking a sweat. Did Hermes and Goodfellow honestly think they could best the giant after that first encounter … or did they have something up their sleeves?

Thoki’s palm connected with his forehead. “Of course they’ve got something up their sleeves. They’re tricksters. It’s like asking if a novelist has a liquor cabinet,” he muttered.

Lor lumbered close enough to see the starshine in the tricksters’ eyes and Thoki decided to break the silence.

“Ill met by moonlight, jackasses,” he pronounced.

Robin Goodfellow shot him a dirty look.

“Thoki we need you to drop this stupid obsession of yours,” said Hermes.

“Nothing doing!” spat Thoki.

“I thought as much,” sighed Hermes. Thoki noticed the Greek’s hands were resolutely behind his back. Did he have a gun? “You give us no choice then,” sighed Hermes.

“Ah, hell. Lor, crush his head,” said Thoki.

“Okay,” said Lor reaching forward.

That was when Hermes’ hand whipped out from behind his back. Thoki flinched and even Lor stopped in his tracks.  Both awaited the blinding pain of bullets ripping through their skin… but it never came. Looking up, Thoki saw that instead of something shiny, metal and lethal, Hermes instead was holding something very different.

For one thing, it was fuzzy. Squinting in the dim light, Thoki made out something pale and fluffy and with two winking glass eyes.

“Is that a toy pig?” asked Thoki, nonplussed.

“Yes,” said Hermes  in a musical voice, directed at Lor. “Do you like the pig?”

“Yes,” said Lor.

Thoki craned his neck to the side to catch Lor’s reaction. To his horror, the giant’s currant eyes were wide and shining. They were fixed squarely on the pig in an expression of rapt enchantment.

“Oh crap,” choked Thoki.

“What do you think his name is?” Hermes asked Lor in the same jolly musical voice of a Kindergarten teacher.

“Mr. Babbington?” asked Lor.

There was only a slight pause as Hermes’ brain restarted. He’d obviously been anticipating an answer like Hammy or Sir Oinks-a-lot. “Yes, that’s right!” he answered. Hermes squeezed the pig’s tummy and it emitted a few darling squeaks.

“What’s that Mr. Babbington?” he asked the toy in dead earnest. He pretended to listen as more squeaks echoed off the concrete and were swallowed by the night.

“What’s he saying?” asked Lor in awe.

 “He says he likes you, Lor! He says he wants to go home with you!”

Lor let loose a whimper of impatience. “Can I hold him?” asked Lor with longing, his sausage fingers inching shyly towards the pig.

Hermes deftly stepped out of his reach. “Mr. Babbington would like that very much, but he needs you to do something first.”

“What’s that?” asked Lor hungrily. Thoki’s stomach turned to ice.

“He needs you to put your friend, Thoki down,” said Hermes.

Ep. 13 Gods in the Marketplace

Feeling much better, Thoki began to walk towards the obelisk. As his stride drew him closer and closer to his target, his pace quickened. He debated briefly whether he should go back and wait outside the toilets for Lor, but his impatience gnawed at him. Lor was always so slow. Anyways, it’s not like the big ox would be able to decipher the worn glyphs on the obelisk anyway. He had trouble with “Harold and the Purple Crayon,” for crap’s sake.  Then again — and this made Thoki pause midstride — Lor did have those rare moments of perspicacity at the oddest of moments.

Thoki shrugged and kept walking. It was only a short jog to the obelisk; Lor would catch up. And this way Thoki could spend his time reading the obelisk instead of reading the graffiti on the bathroom walls.

As the red sandstone column loomed ahead, Thoki’s heart beat faster and faster. He could hear his own pulse whooshing in his ears and making his head throb as his fingers twitched and his body perspired. The anticipation and emotional tide was similar to his recent encounter with Eris and the memory brought a grim smirk to his face, but he pressed on, his feet pounding the sidewalk with more vigor.

He was running at a full tilt now, knocking aside civilians, tourists and vendors as he jogged towards his goal. Against the blue sky, the pink rock looked like a red tower of blood, and his pace slowed as he drew within arm’s length. There he was forced to pause.

 The monument’s primordial decoration was protected from the slack-jawed looky-lous by barriers and a park ranger. An actual park-freaking-ranger, like people came around every day to touch the stone that was older than the first Pharaoh.

The nerve of some people, thought Thoki as he stood weighing his options as to how best to get closer.  He rubbed his bare chin until it irritated his sunburn and he winced at the fiery, prickly sensation.

“You could use some aloe on that,” came a voice over his shoulder.

Thoki, lost in thought, turned absently to see who it was. It was a familiar ham-faced man with a shaved head. Robin Goodfellow was standing behind him in jeans and a Pink Floyd “The Wall” shirt with the arms torn off. He gave Thoki a broad grin, showing off his chipped tooth and in a congenial voice said:

“Alloh, sunshine.”

The blood drained from Thoki’s blistered face as he backed away into a pair of cologne-scented but very strong arms. Hermes had crept up from behind and he grabbed Thoki in a headlock. Thoki only got a brief glimpse of the Greek, but the messenger god’s sculpted nose was looking a little bent and his lip was swollen. Instead of Hermes’s shiny silks he had traded down to a polo shirt and white pants. There was dirty work to do, obviously, and Versache had no place here.

“HELP!” cried Thoki — or he tried to anyway, but nothing was coming out. He was too scared to shout — the two tricksters had him by the short hairs.  Instead his mouth flapped open and closed a few times like a mute ventriloquist’s dummy.

“You left our little party before we finished it,” said Hermes’s velvet voice in his ear. “That wasn’t very nice, considering that you were the guest of honor.”

“-----!” said Thoki, still gasping for words.

“Sorry, Thoki,” said Goodfellow in his less-than-melodious East-Ender tones. “But we can’t let you do this, see?”

“You might seek the destruction of the world, but some of us are living quite happily in it,” said Hermes.

“ So’s we figure that if’n we lock you up, you can’t find the Chaos, right? Problem solved. Happy ending,” said Goodfellow. He gave Thoki a sympathetic grin.

“How’s it a happy ending if I’m locked up?” Thoki finally managed.

Puck’s grin faded a little into a pitying expression. “Werlll, I din’ say it’d be happy for everyone did I?”

And with that, Hermes began to frog-march Thoki out of the park and into the high-street.

Thoki tried to look around, as much as the half-nelson he was in would let him. No one seemed to notice the young Nordic man being carried off by two thugs. In fact, it seemed that no one saw them at all.

“Hello! Guy being kidnapped!” shouted Thoki. Hermes kneed him in the kidneys for that attempt. One or two civillians blinked and looked confused, but otherwise let them pass unnoticed.

“What’s going on? Why don’t they see us?”  asked Thoki.

There was a pause as Goodfellow glanced at Hermes in uncertainty before  looking back at Thoki.

“They don’t see us because they don’t want to,” said Goodfellow.

“To them we don’t exist,” said Hermes bitterly. “Hermes is the name of a scarf company or that little man on the FTD florist’s logo. Puck is a beloved character in a Shakespeare play or a small black coin flicked around a hockey arena.”

“I don’t think that last example is right,” said Goodfellow weakly but Hermes paid him no notice.

“To them the gods are dead, even as their memory floats around this city like clouds of incense.  Look at that souvenir table,” spat Hermes as they passed a merchant’s table full of Cairo-themed memorabilia.

“You have Anubis T-shirts, and wallets, and coffee mugs, but who among these God-fearing Muslims, Jews and Christians would ever think that a Jackal-headed God walks among them.

“Does he?” asked Thoki in awe.

“Don’t be stupid,” hissed Hermes in irritation. Thoki breathed a little.

“Anubis hates crowds,” said Goodfellow, jumping in.  “He waits until nightfall.”

“The POINT is…” snapped Hermes in irritation, “… that even if he was walking down this very street with a tennis ball in his mouth, none of these people would see him. To them, he is a dead god of an ancient race.”

“But why don’t they see me? I’m not a god,” asked Thoki quietly.

“Because you’re appallingly average and forgettable,” said Hermes coldly.

“Oh,” said Thoki feeling ill.

Hermes then felt a tap on his shoulder. Keeping a firm grip on Thoki’s neck, Hermes turned his sculpted head. The god’s face was promptly enveloped in a bushy ginger beard.

Thoki caught sight of Goodfellow going pale before he felt the grip on his neck lessen. Looking around, he saw Lor standing idly and dangling a struggling Hermes by his neck.

“I should very much like my friend back,” said Lor to Goodfellow. His voice was mild enough, but there was a fire in his piggy eyes that made even Thoki nervous.

“Oh bugger,” gasped Goodfellow before a fist the size of a butt roast came roaring at him with the force of a freight train. The blow hit him squarely on the jaw and sent Goodfellow flying into the table of “Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra”-themed merchandise. He tried righting himself, only to have Hermes’s body land on top of him, collapsing the flimsy card table.

If there was any question of whether people could see them now, it was rescinded. What the stand owner saw was a punk kid with a lot of tattoos and his rich boyfriend sitting on his ruined stock.

“I guess people can see gods, when they make themselves known,” laughed Thoki as the vendor cursed at the groaning tricksters. “Those stupid blowhards. People don’t see kidnappers and beatings because people are assholes. It’s not because of godly powers,” he scoffed.

“I think there was another god of legend who made a lot of fuss in a marketplace once. Turned a lot of tables over and shouted.”

“Yeah, that was you… just now” said Thoki, who wasn’t a biblical scholar.

“Oh yeah,” said Lor, who had forgotten what they were talking about. In those situations it was always best to agree with Thoki. Thoki knew what was going on.

“C’mon,” said Thoki in agitation. “Before they get to their feet, we need to hide and figure out a plan to get at that Obelisk.” He pulled Lor through the crowd until they melted into it again.

The sky was turning a charcoal grey, and the oven-like air was now a cold biting wind that smelled of tin, and, to the well-trained nose… like impending snowfall.

Beware of Greeks Wearing Versace

Recap: Thoki & Lor have been journeying across the Mediterranean towards Egypt. Thoki's wants to learn more about the Source of Ultimate Chaos and use it to rule the world. Lor wants to learn "where the bread goes" when he makes toast. 

Young Thoki entered the dark cave. He’d never been here before, his mother had wished to spare him the pain until he’d been prepared. What pain? Thoki and his father had never been close. Even now as he descended into Loki’s prison, Thoki was urged on by curiosity not compassion. He would hold the bowl. He’d promised his mother that, and he would do his best to keep the poison from falling on his father’s face. Still if his hand should slip or during those moments when he had to empty the bowl, it’d be interesting to see his father writhe in pain.

His feet grew heavier as he approached the interior chamber and he hesitated. Odin had told him not to go, that it could lead to disaster, but he had to go, to see. Most of all, Thoki wanted to know that his father was finally in a place where he couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Thoki heard laboured breathing and rounded the last turn of the narrow passageway. There he was. Thoki remembered his father being handsome. Like all the Aesir, Loki had been the epitome of his sex and forever young. Now he looked gaunt and withered, his mouth still scarred from where leather thongs had once bound his mouth shut. His fiery red hair was streaked with grey and lines framed his boyish face. As always his eyes were black coals, twinkling with disarming energy. It was impossible to hate Loki, not when he went out of his way to make himself appealing. It was the trickster’s mark. It had never worked on Thoki, however, since Loki had never cared whether the boy’d liked him or not… until today.

            Loki lifted his heavy head, and smiled charmingly at his youngest son through his marred lips.

            “Hey, sport. How’s it going?”

*****

“You’ve got everything you need?”

“Yes, Thoki,” answered Lor.

“You’ll remember to eat three times a day?” Thoki asked the lumbering giant.

“Yes, Thoki.”

“And not just junkfood, okay?”

“Yes Thoki.”

“I’ve done your laundry for you. Your Thomas the Tank Engine shirt is on top. I know that’s you’re favorite.”

“Yes. Thank you, Thoki.”

Thoki shouldered his backpack, full of his few possessions and prepared to leave.

“Look, I’m really sorry about this. It’s nothing personal, you understand.”

“I understand.”

“It’s just I think we need to go our separate ways.”

“Yes, Thoki.” Lor only nodded with no expression on his hammy face.

It made Thoki’s stomach feel even more squeezed by guilt. He tried to swallow it and walk away.

“You know I’m not coming back, right,” he prompted.

“I know,” answered Lor.

Thoki grimaced and walked out the door to the youth hostile. Lor, seated on the flat bug-infested bed said nothing. There was no need. Thoki always came back.

Thoki felt like scum as he walked down the streets of Bastia. After a grueling month or two adrift at sea (he’d lost count of the days) he and Lor had run aground on the island of Corsica. It had come as a relief somewhat, since Jormungandr had been singing show-tunes at them the entire time. After a day the serpent had run out of songs and started repeating them. Thoki reflected that if he ever heard “One Day More,” one day more he’d have to suppress the urge to make a pipe bomb.

It was colder these days, and Thoki wrapped his zip hoodie tightly around himself as he walked without direction. He just had to get away. He had been getting closer to Lor, and that was dangerous, so he left. Oh, sure, he’d left about eight times already and always ran back when the loneliness became so depressing he’d thought he would die. But this time was different. He was leaving for good this time. Friends were a liability. They made you vulnerable–made you weak.

He found that his feet were taking him to very swanky part of town. The shop windows were full of handbags, and shoes, and silk shirts, and absolutely no price tags. Tanned women and men were strutting down the sidewalks in designer clothes and sunglasses. Thoki suddenly felt shabby and inadequate… and very pale. He wondered what he was doing here, why had he felt compelled to wander into this district? And then he saw the reason.

A bronze-skinned young man in a floral silk shirt and scarf was seated at a wrought iron café table. His dark brown hair was expertly styled, his white pants dazzlingly clean and immaculate. Thoki sniffed at the leather purse dangling on the back of the man’s chair. He’d heard of a “manbag,” but had never seen one before. Then again, he’d never seen a man in lilac silk before either.

The man had a carefully calculated air of casual elegance. He was sipping a cappuccino and admiring the beautiful women that clipped past (Thoki amended that–beautiful women and men that clipped past). While he leered, the man absently fingered the gorgeous silk scarf around his neck.

“Hermes?” inquired Thoki approaching him.

“Yes it is, but it’s pronounced, ER-MAY,” said the man, before looking up. (Thoki thought the word, ‘queer’ instead of ‘man.’ Vikings were not typically raised to be open-minded.)

“Oh you mean me,” said the man with a polite smile.

“Yeah, you’re the guy with the wings on his ankles. Hermes, right?” asked Thoki ducking under the café awning.

“I’m wearing Manolos today. Hello, Thoki, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Me?” cried Thoki, taken aback. He didn’t think Hermes knew he existed. “What do you mean waiting.”

“We all have been,” said Hermes. “Take a seat, will you?”

“We?” Thoki eyed the seat warily, like it might have poison spikes on it, and eventually decided to sit. He tried not to think about how it might appear to other people to see two men, one in pink, seated at a café table.

“Antonio, please bring my friend a coffee and a selection of pastries,” said Hermes to one of the waiters.

“Yes, Signor Fattorino,” replied the waiter before scurrying off.

“Fattorino? Messanger boy?” translated Thoki, when Antonio had left. “Cute. Real cute.”

“Less is more,” replied Hermes with a shrug. “But let’s talk about you.”

Thoki tried not to look uncomfortable as the god’s dark eyes swept over him with unmasked interest. Hermes, another trickster, was turning on the charm. “The source of ultimate chaos, was it, Thoki?”

Thoki blanched whiter than his Nordic pallor. “How did you know that?”

“I know it. I know more than you think about it, perhaps. The Greek and Egyptian pantheon were united briefly, if you recall.”

“It was after my time,” said Thoki, who wasn’t sure.

“I even know the name of what you’re looking for,” continued Hermes.

“You do? What is it?” said Thoki leaning in.

For the first time since their meeting, Hermes looked uncomfortable. He shifted in his iron chair and glanced towards the street. “I don’t have permission to tell you, but… it’s not what you think it is. This Chaos you’re after, it’s nothing any of us can master or contain. You’re a fool to think you could harness it.”

Thoki bristled at this effeminate nancy-boy trying to tell him off. “Oh really?” he said with a sneer.

“It’s not going to bring him back,” said Hermes gently. “I know you’re doing this to please your father but–”

“EXCUSE ME?” cried Thoki sitting up, abruptly. “Where do you get off? I’m not doing JACK to please my dad. Not all of us are happy with our deadbeat fathers, Hermes. Here in the loosey-goosey Adriatic, you might enjoy being a little bastard, but in Norway, father-son relationships are a bit more complicated.”

“We’re in the Tyrrhenian Sea, dolt,” said Hermes acidly.

“Whatever. Just don’t mess with me, douche-bag. I have my own reasons for doing this.”

“Well, if I can’t convince you… maybe you’d be willing to come with me. I know someone who can tell you all about the Source of Ultimate Chaos.”

“No,” said Thoki.
"You don't trust me?"
"DUH."

“Well at least wait until after breakfast,” said Hermes indicating the plate of éclairs and the steaming hot coffee that had just arrived.

Thoki tried to ignore the heavenly scent that was wafting from the coffee and food. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal in over a year, and he hadn’t eaten solid food for about 2 months. His stubborn pride vanished utterly as he grabbed the cappuccino from its saucer and took a deep drink. It was bitter and very strong, but filled him with gorgeous warmth and caffeine. He then bit into the éclair, and saw stars. He never realized that food could taste like this.

Overcome with fatigue, remorse and emotion, Thoki burst into tears and cried face-down onto the table. Hermes almost regretted clubbing Thoki over the head with a blackjack.

***

Back at the hostel, Lor hadn’t moved. He was still waiting for Thoki.

Thoki and Hermes