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Drip. Drip. drip drip. Drip. drip.
The basin brim was almost overflowing now. She would have to step away soon to empty it. Her outstretched arms cried for rest, and her lower back ached from stooping over her husband’s body. The gods’ cruelty was unmatched, yet to hear Them tell it she had the choice of walking away. Of joining them in Asgard, celebrating eternity with Them. Odin even suggested she might remarry and "serve a better god than Loki."
Drip. Drip drip drip. drip
Would the pause last long enough to empty the basin? She never knew. There was no consistency to the dripping of the serpent’s saliva. It was a gamble. Always.
Sigyn lowered her arms as swiftly as she dared with the venom trembling at the lip of the basin, unwilling to spill even a drop until safely away from Loki’s face. She hurried to empty the basin, scalding hisses echoing harmlessly on cave walls. Then she again stretched out to position her basin beneath the serpent’s oozing fangs just in time.
Plunk. plink plink
She hated to see Loki’s misery. She also hated that she could not escape the pain he caused her. She was Fidelity; she could not leave. She would not leave. She was Constant. Loki was Fire and Mischief, destructive and entertaining by turns even to himself. He used to ask her, whenever he’d return after disappearing for ages on some wild start, why she waited. He didn’t understand her. Sometimes he hated her. And to be Truth (as she was, by her very essence), sometimes she hated him, too. They drew together, they repelled against.
It was her nature and her choice to be here, aging and aching for Idunn’s apples. She could be young forever if she could forgive Them. But she was not her husband, so such lies were beyond her ability.
******
She grieved for her Nari. The cruelty of the gods demanded vengeance for even small slights, much less the death of one of their own. Her poor boy, his red-gold hair and sweet smile. He was fond of mischief too, like his father. Like all children. Giggles turned to screams, happiness to horror. His was not an easy death. Pain was Their satisfaction. Baldr’s instant death was Nari’s lingering torment. Baldr’s Vanity revoked, Nari’s Innocence absorbed. The death of Justice demanded a Sacrifice. Stomach ripped, bowels emptied, every moment prolonged as Nari’s tissues turned to iron…until finally Hela showed some small mercy and hid his soul into her domain.
Hela was Mercy? How unexpected.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
********
“Be my bed, says the ocean to its floor. Hold me in place, or I fear I will be lost forever.”
Loki. He was as wild and chaotic as the ocean itself. Raising and thrashing himself against the inflexible nature of the other gods.
“You are the sea, and I will be your seabed. I will ground you and bind you, lest you flood the earth and devour us all. I will anchor you, and you will fill me with life.”
Sigyn was always there. Loki always returned. He knew her. He was devouring energy and trickery, chaos, excitement, beauty. She understood him. She was comfort and truth, sturdiness, piety, devotion. They borrowed from one another as needed, he to imbue her with life and she to fetter his impulses. He was her prison, her burden. Her happiness.
She would not leave him, not now. Not when his ocean was draining, his fire smothering. Not when his hair paled grey and his lips blue, and every drip of the serpent’s tongue licked his bones with blistering pain.
Drip drip. Drip. drip
*********
How could he have done this to her? Why could he not guide his impulses into less destructive ends? He was cruel, her lover. Thoughtless. Ignorant of emotion or consequence, except his own. As likely to murder as rescue. And yet…it was his nature. Consuming. Burning. Gleefully escaping all efforts to enforce boundaries to his flame. Well, the Gods had finally found an effective bind. They had found a fetter far more effective than she could ever be. She did not overturn Truth, as They did.
Loki’s heart was broken. Leaking away, following the whisper of Nari’s torment down to Helheim.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip drip drip. Drip. Drip
It was time to empty the basin again, but the saliva was dripping too quickly. If she misjudged the time, Loki was not the only one who would suffer. Every time the serpent’s venom struck his face, his writhing pulled against the anchoring rocks and sent earthquakes ripping through Midgard.
The mortals screamed and cried out for the gods to save them, praying to their punishers for safety. The children of Midgard did not understand; only Sigyn provided Loyalty. Only she felt Compassion for them. They regarded her as only a minor goddess, weak. She did not mind. She was used to being undervalued.
“Sigyn?” His voice rasped, bloodied and gurgling.
“I am here, my love.”
Too much, too full. She would have to risk it.
Plip
Loki thrashed as she turned back too slowly, somehow wailing from the ruins of his throat.
***********
The hypocrisy of Them was immeasurable. Demanding idle pleasure, giving thoughtless pain. They were just as cruel as Loki, only slightly less fickle. Satisfied with violence and manipulations, then turning to Loki to save them from their bad bargains when those manipulations failed. They had forgotten Truth. They had forgotten her.
Let Them stagnate into nothing. Without Devotion, who will worship? No storytellers will hold an interest, there will be no new tales among the mortals. No child of Midgard will swear Fidelity at the temples or the altars. They will fade away, unaware that the golden fruit could not preserve them once Duty deserted.
Nari’s intestines, binding Loki’s limbs to the cave wall. Lashing her to darkness.
Odd, that the god of Lies would apparently be more truthful about his nature than Them.
Drip. Drip. Pause…drip drip. Drip drip
Without her, who would Remember? Her revenge was as simple as remaining here, withholding herself from Them. She was dying. Slowly, yes, but surely.
Let all the little them fade with her.