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The problem with sky turtles is that they are never in the same place twice. They are always moving, wandering through the cosmos, charting out their paths using a formula known only to them. Where they are going matters little to almost all of their hosts and it matters even less to those on other worlds.
The Great A’Tuin, sky turtle of the Discworld, is no exception. The inhabitants of the Discworld know where they are in space and that is ‘on the back of the turtle’. All Loki could think about as he hurtled down towards it was that it didn’t look like any of the nine realms he knew. Then he blacked out.
*
The noise of a thatched roof breaking is not a regular occurrence. Particularly when the roof in question belongs to a witch. When that witch is Granny Weatherwax it is safe to assume that it is an unheard-of occurrence. The sound of groaning, cursing and snapping twigs was the final straw though. Steely eyed Granny Weatherwax slipped out of bed and went to see what was going on.
There was a man standing in the centre of the debris looking up out of the newly formed hole with a frown. She studied him for a moment before she spoke.
“People usually knock.” Loki turned cautiously. He had no idea where he was. The stars were all wrong. This shack was clearly inhabited though so that was a good sign, he hoped. He couldn’t see the owner of the voice in the gloom, sounded old, and maybe female.
“I didn’t really have much of a chance.” He quipped, mind still reeling from the last few hours.
“Doors not your style?”
“They are a rare find when one is plummeting to the ground.” He bit back getting frustrated. “Where am I?” He really disliked not speaking with people face to face, it put him at a disadvantage.
“Ain’t you going to apologise first, boy?”
“Not my fault.” He answered automatically. When he got no reply he realised he was going to have to change his tactics quickly if he wanted answers. “Although I do apologise for the damage Ms.?”
“Mistress Weatherwax. As for the damage, I expect you to help fix that before you go. Shaun Ogg down in Lancre Town should be able to lend a hand in the morning.” Loki carefully kept his face neutral, he had absolutely no intention of doing any hard labour just to fix some old woman’s roof.
“Fine. Now can you tell me where I am?” There was a spark of a match and suddenly the pale face of Granny Weatherwax came into view. She moved to light a few candles, casting the cottage into flickering light.
“I could,” she replied haughtily, “if asked politely.” He gave her a witheringly look. “You are clearly not from around these parts are you, young man?” He heard her add nonplussed.
“I am Loki, God of Mischief.” He shouted. Granny didn’t even blink.
“I’m not one for paying much attention to gods.” It was then that he saw the hat. A witch’s hat is one concept that is for the most part universal. Tall black and pointy hats meant the owner knew magic, or thought they did, and as descriptions went Mistress Weatherwax almost perfectly fit his internal idea of what a witch should look like, minus the warts.
“Are you a witch?” he asked with mild suspicion. She set her gaze back on him coolly.
“Yes. ”
“So, you can help me get home?” he questioned seriously.
“What, back to Cori Celeste? I suppose I could point you in the right direction once you’ve fixed my roof.” Granny agreed. It was still late and she would rather be having this conversation in the morning truth be told. Loki frowned. He had no idea where this witch was talking about. There were only nine realms and none of them where called that.
“Where?”
“Cori Celeste, at the top is the home of the Gods. Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“I’m not from your world!” Loki finally yelled in frustration. “I am Loki, from Asgard.”
“Never heard of it.” Loki pulled at his hair in frustration.
“You must have done! Asgard is one of the nine key realms.”
“Well here on the Discworld we are only concerned with our own wee realm. I ain’t got any time for politics. I can barely stand Kings.”
“Well how am I meant to get home?!” Granny gave him a piercing look. The pout that had been on Loki’s face did a runner.
“We can discuss that in the morning. There is the couch. Don’t you dare try leaving before dawn or I’ll turn you into a frog or something equally slimy.” She checked the door discretely before blowing out the candle. “Try not to destroy anything else, you hear?”
The Asgardian nodded into the darkness. There was little he had to worry about. He would be a good way away, come sunrise.
*
He tried to leave twice during the night, but for some reason he just couldn’t do it. The first time he tried the door was bolted shut as if it was never really used. The back door however had a simpler lock. After finding tools suitable to picking it open he got to it. Just before he finished though a cat came out of nowhere and sat right by the kitchen door as if daring him to leave so it could go and waking up its mistress. Eventually he fell asleep on the lumpy old sofa, the sounds of load snoring drifting down from above. He dreamt of Thor and his ‘family’ and of how everything he thought he had known, was now mostly lies or gone altogether. It was a restless night, for sure.
*
Light on the Discworld moves so slowly that it takes forever to flood over the Ramtops. But once it sinks into the valleys and villages it stays for an extended amount of time.
Loki was woken up by a shock of light above him, completely out of nowhere. Not a gradual shift from dark to light, just a click and a change. He groaned and tried to move away, which resulted in him rolling off of the couch.
“Oww” he muttered.
“Oh good you are up.” A voice came from behind him. “Go get the milk from the goat and make yourself useful.” He blinked open his eyes and cleared his throat.
“What?”
“Are you deaf now too? I said go out and milk the goat your godliness.” The woman snapped irritably. Deciding it was best to do as he was told Loki got up and went out the kitchen door. He grumbled through milking the goat, who had more patience than he probably deserved.
Once he had a mostly full bucket he returned to find a steaming pot of what he hoped was stew waiting for him.
“You can eat that before getting started on the roof. There is dwarf bread too. I’m going to head into the town shortly to see if an Ogg can lend you a hand. But seeing as it is almost Hogswatch it might be difficult. Any questions?"
"What is Hogswatch?" Loki asked sarcastically under his breath.
"It is a midwinter festival to commemorate the last day of the old year and the first day of the new year. I would think most cultures would have something similar. You spend time seeing family and exchanging presents. There is normally a lot of eating and drinking too. People acting merrily and whatnot. Speaking of eating you need to finish up soon or it will go cold."
Ah. Loki thought. That did sound familiar to customs elsewhere. Deciding that he would be best eating the food, especially considering he hadn't ate in a good number of hours, he began scoffing down the stew. It tasted . . . adequate. Anything would in comparison to the 'bread' that was sitting centrepiece on the table. He didn't even want to touch it. Looked as hard as a rock and as unappealing as a rock too actually. Yup definitely sticking to the stew.
He glanced up at the old hag across from him. She seemed mostly harmless. He guessed that if he had to stay and 'fix' a roof before leaving he could most definitely have some fun and play some tricks while he did so. Smiling to himself he returned his gaze to the food.
Granny Weatherwax caught a small sneaky smile and began plotting how best she could show this boy some manners. Respect was important, 'specially with witches. A little bit of that could do anyone a lot of good. He was also going to learn about 'doing the right thing'. No one woke her in the middle of the night and brushed it off. There was going to be a price to pay. He was going to pay the cost one way or another.