skiff shot
skiff shot out into the river, disappearing into a bank of mist, which left me no choice but to face Loki's nephew—and Odin's son.
Chapter Twelve
It figured that Odin's favorite son—and one of Loki's worst enemies—would be on hand to greet me.
He stared out at the mist for a moment; then pulled himself together visibly. "I apologize," he said with a wan smile. "Thinking about my uncle is a little upsetting. I try not to, at all." He looked me up and down, taking my measure. "You didn't come all this way to torment Loki, surely?"
"No. That was her idea." I jerked my head toward where the skiff had vanished. "I'm really just looking for some information from him."
His face clouded somewhat. "I wouldn't advise that. Loki is dangerous, and not exactly cooperative." A pained expression crossed his face. "I ought to know."
"It must be rough, huh?" I asked, trying to sound sympathetic.
He shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "Well, it isn't great, no, and the mold growing on your feet can get to you; but it isn't so bad, really. Plenty of peace and quiet, no worries to speak of, so long as you avoid Loki. He's kind of bitter about the whole thing."
And Baldr wasn't? If someone had murdered me and dumped me in this gawdawful place for eternity . . . Maybe living in Niflheim did scramble a person's brain, or maybe dying was akin to gelding, because it was hard to believe that any Norse god could be this mellow, never mind a son of Odin who'd been murdered.
On the other hand, madness did take a variety of forms. I was convinced that Odin himself was 'round the bend and gone, so it was entirely possible that Odin's dead son was cheerfully mad in his own inimitable way. But while my current ability to judge relative sanity might be impaired (I was in hell, after all), Baldr didn't look insane. He looked hale, hearty, and sort of wistful around the eyes.
"What can I be thinking?" he said with a grimace. "I can only excuse my manners by pointing out that we get so few visitors, it's easy to forget courtesies. Baldr is my name."
He held out his hand. I started to take
Chapter Twelve
It figured that Odin's favorite son—and one of Loki's worst enemies—would be on hand to greet me.
He stared out at the mist for a moment; then pulled himself together visibly. "I apologize," he said with a wan smile. "Thinking about my uncle is a little upsetting. I try not to, at all." He looked me up and down, taking my measure. "You didn't come all this way to torment Loki, surely?"
"No. That was her idea." I jerked my head toward where the skiff had vanished. "I'm really just looking for some information from him."
His face clouded somewhat. "I wouldn't advise that. Loki is dangerous, and not exactly cooperative." A pained expression crossed his face. "I ought to know."
"It must be rough, huh?" I asked, trying to sound sympathetic.
He shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "Well, it isn't great, no, and the mold growing on your feet can get to you; but it isn't so bad, really. Plenty of peace and quiet, no worries to speak of, so long as you avoid Loki. He's kind of bitter about the whole thing."
And Baldr wasn't? If someone had murdered me and dumped me in this gawdawful place for eternity . . . Maybe living in Niflheim did scramble a person's brain, or maybe dying was akin to gelding, because it was hard to believe that any Norse god could be this mellow, never mind a son of Odin who'd been murdered.
On the other hand, madness did take a variety of forms. I was convinced that Odin himself was 'round the bend and gone, so it was entirely possible that Odin's dead son was cheerfully mad in his own inimitable way. But while my current ability to judge relative sanity might be impaired (I was in hell, after all), Baldr didn't look insane. He looked hale, hearty, and sort of wistful around the eyes.
"What can I be thinking?" he said with a grimace. "I can only excuse my manners by pointing out that we get so few visitors, it's easy to forget courtesies. Baldr is my name."
He held out his hand. I started to take