Across the Bridge
Odin took his charge, blanket-wrapped and tucked into his left arm beneath his cloak, into the warm common room of the Bridgewater Inn. He yelled out to a serving man, “Prepare my bill; I leave tonight.” Climbed the stairs to his private room—the best one, of course—, swirled off the cloak, and laid his bundle on the rush-mattressed bed. No one on this side of the river could see into the room, so he left the window open.
Using both hands, he unwrapped the bundle in its threadbare blanket. The boy was awake, open-mouthed, but silent. Odin picked him up and held him in the fresh air coming through the window. Odin put him down naked on the bed. “You need a name, young man,” he said quietly; “but first…” He doubted he could find milk. This corner of the blanket wasn’t too dirty; Odin opened his flask, poured mead onto it, and twisted the wet area into a ball-shape.
Odin’s mother had raised Jotunns. How hard could it be?
“Here,” he said to the baby. “Suck on this, for now.”
Odin’s own magic was a bare fraction of that his mother had possessed; and the bulk of it was spent, in Asgard, in trying to hasten the summer in strategic parts of his realm. But Odin had not been in Asgard in days, so perhaps he could use what he had for a different spell.
The baby was sucking his mead-sop with closed eyes. Odin closed his eye, tracked a thread of his own magic, pulled it across the Rainbow Bridge, and, opening his eye, gathered it into the sop. “This will protect you, until Winter takes you for Her own.” As the baby sucked, its skin turned pink, the color spreading from the mouth outwards, the raised lines fading into smooth skin.
I need a name to anchor the spell, Odin thought. An old name would do; one that belonged to a lost companion.
“Loki.”
The child’s black hair, the black lashes had not changed; the baby’s eyes, opening, had reversed from brilliant all-over red to white-rimmed green.
“Loki,” Odin repeated. The child focused on him.
“Loki.” A third time. “My son.”
The baby—Loki—laughed.
“So be it!” As Odin completed the spell.
Odin found a better cloth in his room in which to wrap the boy, Loki. The rest of his belongings were tumbled into a pack; then he put on his pack, his hat, his cape; grabbed the boy and his walking staff. Loki continued to suck on his mead-sop, but looked around with those bright green eyes. “We’ll pay the bill,” Odin explained, “and then we have a walk before arriving home. But we should get there tonight, with luck.”
Downstairs, the housemistress took his coins. “Didn’t think you arrived with a child.”
“I didn’t,” said Odin. “’Tis an old comrade’s child. I’d been looking for him.”
“Yeah, he don’t look much like you. Good luck to you both!”
The guard post at the Rainbow Bridge was manned, of course, and Odin had only to raise his hat for the guard to recognize the one-eyed king. Then came the long hike up the bridge (with its on-ramps from the other realms), and the shorter descent to the raised cliffs of Asgard. Home at last.
Heimdall himself manned the chamber on the Asgard end of the bridge.
“Welcome home, my Lord King. What success?”
Odin tossed back the side of his cloak. “No immediate success, I fear. But in the long run, perhaps…”
Heimdall and baby stared at each other.
“Is this one of yours?”
“Not by birth.” Odin smiled. “But see that the rumor spreads that he is.” He gave the baby a little jiggle. “Loki, this is Heimdall. He will help to protect you.”
“Loki?” asked Heimdall. “I seem to recall that name.”
“I needed to bind him with and old name, for the magic to hold. Still, few besides you should recognize it.”
“Then he is Jotunn.”
“Tell no-one. He will grow up to be a powerful mage; best that he’s on our side.”
“So you hope to succeed where your mother did not?”
“Where my father did, thank you. And I have a secret weapon. Frigga.”
“Your lady wife has been waiting for you, my Lord. Shall I send word ahead?”
“No, I’ll surprise her. But if I may use your horse?”