Read Online Loki: Why I Began the End by Maia Jacomus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maia Jacomus
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tolerated.” For a moment, I looked to where Odin walked ahead of us; as always, I could not determine any reaction. So I continued, “There were many adjustments that I regret, but in the end, I think I’ve felt more at home in Asgard with the Aesir than I ever did at my birthplace.”
Balder paid genuine attention all along. “How is it that you feel more at home in Asgard?”
“Jotun just don’t have the scope of imagination and intellect that I have. They tend toward more primitive goals, their lives are set by a survival instinct. The Aesir are more than that; they live beyond survival…” I dared a critical remark: “Though they also display some primitive tastes at times.”
Balder tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”
“They’re still outrageously entertained by physical displays, and almost all of them are obsessed with material objects.”
Balder nodded. “Yes, I do understand that.”
“One thing I’ll never understand is how they name their possessions like they’re children. Can you explain that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not very close to that mentality myself.”
I picked up a stone from the ground and faked enthusiasm. “What a substantial coating of dirt covers this rock! I believe I shall name it Astransifer!”
To my disbelief, Balder laughed. “Are we really so bad as to name rocks we find on the ground?”
“Not the rock—the dirt on the rock. The rock is called Refisnartsa.”
He laughed harder, and I laughed along, tossing the rock over my shoulder. He had the most amazing laugh, the kind that spreads and makes you fly. As the joke settled, he calmed and speculated, “The only merit I can find to naming things like that, is to identify them. Suppose there are two fine swords sitting side by side, which look alike. It’s not uncommon for things—especially mass-produced weapons—to look similar. But if you name them and stamp the name into them, you know which is which, and whose is whose. Likewise, if you think of all the spears my father owns…”
“A dozen at least,” I confirmed.
“…they do all have their own unique characteristics well enough, but what if he were to send a servant to fetch one, or if he lost one? He could say to find his spear, but how would the servant know which to look for? If he said, ‘Find Gungnir’, the servant knows to bring the spear gifted by you.”
I waggled my head in consideration. “I suppose that makes an ounce of sense. But still ridiculous is the fact that they own so many objects—and of the same kind.” I put my arm around his shoulder and asked with loud mocking, in order that Odin would overhear, “So what do you think of your father’s masochistic pursuit of wisdom?”
It didn’t take long for Balder to become my favorite Aesir—present company excepted. He certainly had his father’s affinity for wisdom and knowledge, but there was more to it: Odin’s wisdom, however extensive, was biased. He used it to determine his own beliefs of good and evil, and how to enforce such beliefs onto his followers. Balder, however, was more broad-minded, using his wisdom to explore all possibilities; not only to find the right and wrong answers, but to learn all the answers. During that trip, I learned more from Balder than I ever did all the time I’d known Odin. Just proves how overrated that old git can be.
We had a successful day—if you count three boars, eight geese, and two deer successful. We found a place to camp, and Odin left to gather firewood, leaving Balder and me with the task of skinning and preparing our game—leaving us alone. While we worked, we had some light, intellectual conversation. But there was one thing in particular that had burned at my brain, and which he could possibly know.
“Balder,” I began, “has your father ever told you
Balder paid genuine attention all along. “How is it that you feel more at home in Asgard?”
“Jotun just don’t have the scope of imagination and intellect that I have. They tend toward more primitive goals, their lives are set by a survival instinct. The Aesir are more than that; they live beyond survival…” I dared a critical remark: “Though they also display some primitive tastes at times.”
Balder tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”
“They’re still outrageously entertained by physical displays, and almost all of them are obsessed with material objects.”
Balder nodded. “Yes, I do understand that.”
“One thing I’ll never understand is how they name their possessions like they’re children. Can you explain that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not very close to that mentality myself.”
I picked up a stone from the ground and faked enthusiasm. “What a substantial coating of dirt covers this rock! I believe I shall name it Astransifer!”
To my disbelief, Balder laughed. “Are we really so bad as to name rocks we find on the ground?”
“Not the rock—the dirt on the rock. The rock is called Refisnartsa.”
He laughed harder, and I laughed along, tossing the rock over my shoulder. He had the most amazing laugh, the kind that spreads and makes you fly. As the joke settled, he calmed and speculated, “The only merit I can find to naming things like that, is to identify them. Suppose there are two fine swords sitting side by side, which look alike. It’s not uncommon for things—especially mass-produced weapons—to look similar. But if you name them and stamp the name into them, you know which is which, and whose is whose. Likewise, if you think of all the spears my father owns…”
“A dozen at least,” I confirmed.
“…they do all have their own unique characteristics well enough, but what if he were to send a servant to fetch one, or if he lost one? He could say to find his spear, but how would the servant know which to look for? If he said, ‘Find Gungnir’, the servant knows to bring the spear gifted by you.”
I waggled my head in consideration. “I suppose that makes an ounce of sense. But still ridiculous is the fact that they own so many objects—and of the same kind.” I put my arm around his shoulder and asked with loud mocking, in order that Odin would overhear, “So what do you think of your father’s masochistic pursuit of wisdom?”
It didn’t take long for Balder to become my favorite Aesir—present company excepted. He certainly had his father’s affinity for wisdom and knowledge, but there was more to it: Odin’s wisdom, however extensive, was biased. He used it to determine his own beliefs of good and evil, and how to enforce such beliefs onto his followers. Balder, however, was more broad-minded, using his wisdom to explore all possibilities; not only to find the right and wrong answers, but to learn all the answers. During that trip, I learned more from Balder than I ever did all the time I’d known Odin. Just proves how overrated that old git can be.
We had a successful day—if you count three boars, eight geese, and two deer successful. We found a place to camp, and Odin left to gather firewood, leaving Balder and me with the task of skinning and preparing our game—leaving us alone. While we worked, we had some light, intellectual conversation. But there was one thing in particular that had burned at my brain, and which he could possibly know.
“Balder,” I began, “has your father ever told you
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