Eitrdropar

or Venom Drops

The following was first published in the anthology MYTHS, GODS, AND IMMORTALS: LOKI. You can find links to purchase the book at the end of the story.

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THERE IS A CAVE THAT LIES BETWEEN TWO WORLDS. Its floor is the basement of one realm and the ceiling of another. The cave is hidden beneath a waterfall that fills a deep pool where an impossible-to-navigate river originates. Only intrepid swarms of salmon can swim up the river to find the pool, but they lack feet with which they could step out of the water to walk through the falls and into the cave.

If one could navigate the river’s windy meanders and knees all the way to the headwaters, one would be struck by the deep pool’s beauty. Velvety moss grows on smooth river stones, and centuries-old beech trees cast shade over the deep waters with knurled and twisted limbs. The pool is clear enough to see to the bottom, but one could never sink to its deepest depths in a single breath. The sound of the waterfall’s ceaseless rush fills the air like feathers stuffed into a down pillow and softly mutes the surrounding world.

Behind the deafening falls is the entrance to the cave that no mortal has found. It is not a small hole in the earth. In fact, it is large enough for both gods and giants to enter through. But the cave is not inviting. It is dark and belches more foul-smelling air than drunkards after a night of revelry. Jagged rocks line the cave walls, and thick ooze drips from the ceiling above. The cave mouth is as terrifying as the pool is enchanting.

Things do not get better after stepping inside. The sun and moon are quickly replaced by utter darkness, and the sound of running water is consumed by silence. Unlike most holes beneath the earth, the cave air is not cool. It is stifling. The deeper one goes, the warmer the temperature becomes until it is almost unbearable. Where the heat is the strongest, Loki, the god of mischief, dwells.

But ignore the god. He is harmless in his present condition. His hands and legs are lashed with charmed cords tied in unbreakable knots. He has been bound this way for years and will continue to be tethered until the end of days. Mind the snake instead. It sits above the god’s head with open jaws as though it were ready to strike. Venom drips out of its fangs onto the upturned face of the incarcerated. The vile drops sear the skin and are most painful if they splash in open eyes. Loki yanks on the cords that bind him. He is strong enough to shake the earth in his discomfort but unable to free himself.

A goddess comes into the cave to give Loki aid. She has been near the cave for as long as him, though she is free to leave if she wants. The goddess is Sigyn, Loki’s once fair and ceaselessly loyal wife. She carries a shallow pail with her.

“I’m back,” Sigyn calls to comfort her tormented husband. She takes her place between Loki and the vile snake. Two divots are worn into the stone where she has stood over the years.

Drip.

Another drop of venom falls out of the snake’s mouth, but Sigyn catches it in her pail. Loki breathes a sigh of relief. His skin will heal, and with Sigyn beside him, his prison is more bearable.

“Thank you, dear,” Loki says. He wants to hug his wife, but the cords do not allow him that pleasure. They haven’t touched in decades. They haven’t kissed in centuries. Coming near is too risky, especially when more than a few drops of venom are in the pail. Instead, Loki embraces Sigyn with his words.

“I love you,” Loki says. It is something he says often. Another woman might think he addresses his words to the pail that protects him, but Sigyn is not such a woman.

“I love you, too,” she replies.

Drip.

Sigyn holds the pail over Loki’s head day and night. She catches every drop of venom except when she must go outside to empty the pail into the pool. If she is fast, Loki only suffers two stings from the snake. But there are some days when she takes her time. Some days, Sigyn looks long into the wind and dips a toe into the waters of the pool before polluting it. Loki suffers in her absence, and the whole earth trembles from his mighty jerks at his tethers. He cries for the pail; he screams for her return.

“SIGYN! Come back, oh please come back.”

Loki’s voice is not easy to ignore. Not even the waterfalls can drown his anguish, so Sigyn takes her toe out of the numbing waters and turns her back to the wind. She drains the contents of the pail. The venom kills the fish in the pool. It’s a wonder there are any fish left in the world, Sigyn thinks. Surely, she’s poured out enough venom to kill them all over the years.

But her trips to empty the basin are less frequent than she thinks. As shallow as the dish is, filling it takes a long time. Sigyn returns to Loki’s side in time to catch the seventh drip.

Loki and Sigyn are not without visitors in the cave. Some of the other gods and goddesses come to see them. Only Odin, the All-Father, neglects to visit. He cannot bear to see his once beloved blood brother in such misery.

When the gods come, they check Loki’s bonds and give Sigyn a morsel of food and a draft of mead. She’s grateful for the vittles and the company. None of the gods tend to Loki’s needs. They have yet to forgive him for his mischief and misdeeds against them.

“Have you not proven your loyalty enough?” asks Tyr, the god of glory. While he speaks, Tyr strokes the stump of his arm where a hand once was. A hand he lost to Loki’s son, the great wolf Fenrir.

“Loyalty is not shown once, but continuously,” Sigyn answers.

Drip.

“Let me hold the pail for a while,” Tyr offers, “You must be weary of this task.”

Loki looks at his wife with fear in his eyes. The same fear a lamb displays before the butcher. Loki knows Tyr would sooner dump all of the snake’s venom onto his head than protect him.

“Tending to me is far too lowly of a task for a god like you,” Loki reasons. His once cunning voice is rough and ragged. His lies are out of practice. “Surely you must be leaving us soon to watch some battle amongst the mortals?”

“The world is quite peaceful for now,” Tyr grumbles. He does not look at Loki when he speaks. He has offered to take Sigyn’s place before, so he knows what she will say and gets up to leave

TIME PASSES. The snake above Loki does not move. It does not eat or sleep and never shuts its vicious jaws. It is perched too high for Sigyn to reach, though she is sure that if she tried, the snake would bite her with its terrible fangs. If a single drop can cause Loki, a god and the son of a giant, to writhe in pain, what more misery might come from a bite?

One day, a most unexpected guest enters the cave. She is not a goddess— one of the Aesir— but the giantess Angrboda, Loki’s first wife. She is wet from the falls. Her straight, dark hair clings to the sides of her face. Her pale blue skin glistens like ice thawing in the sun. A headdress made of stag antlers rests on her head, adding even more height to her imposing stature. Deep-set eyes scour the scene for anything other than the two pitiful gods. When nothing of interest is found, she looks to Loki.

“I see that the Aesir have treated you well,” Angrboda says.

“They’re going through a phase,” Loki sighs. He pulls on his cords. They are as taught as ever.

“Why are you here?” Sigyn asks. She knows Angrboda. She knows Loki loved the she-giant first before he came to Asgard and returned to her embrace often enough to sire three monstrous children.

“Why are you here?” Angrboda asks in reply. “Why do you suffer with this fool?”

“Loyalty is not something I would expect a giant to understand.”

“Ah, but you would be wrong. It is loyalty that brings me here.” Sigyn raised a doubtful brow as Angrboda continued. “I have news that concerns the both of you.”

“You have lies,” Sigyn hissed.

“The only liar in this cave is the one you so desperately protect.”

“I have not lied for some time. I think by average I might now be considered an honest man,” Loki said with the smallest of smiles on his venom-scarred face.

“Bite your tongue and keep it that way,” Angrboda said.

“I see my absence has not made your heart grow fonder of me.”

“You’re wrong, I have grown quite fond of your absence.”

I’ve missed you too,” Loki sneered.

“Speak and be gone,” Sigyn said. Loki’s exchange with his former lover was too playful, in her opinion. It twisted her heart.

Drip.

The pail was near capacity. Sigyn adjusted her grip so that the splashes would not land on her. The skin of her fingers was calloused and scarred even more than the hammer-wielding hands of mighty Thor. The venom’s touch was indeed painful; she had caught it with her own hands several times. Despite the occasional mishaps, Loki never once heard his wife cry out in pain.

“Ragnarok has come,” Angrboda said.

“Ragnarok?” Loki and Sigyn said together. Angrboda nodded.

“Fenrir is free. Jormungandr rises from the tides as we speak.” Angrboda’s voice carried unhidden pride. The monstrous wolf and the world-sized serpent were her children—her and Loki’s—two beasts fated to destroy the gods at the appointed time.

“Impossible,” Sigyn said, but then the blast from a battle horn echoed through the chamber. The unmistakable call of Heimdall, the god’s watchman, summoning the Aesir to battle.

“It is inevitable,” Angrboda said. “The giants march on the Bifrost as we speak.”

Drip.

“Why are you here to tell us? What can we who are imprisoned possibly do?” Sigyn asked.

“Only one of you is in chains,” Angrboda answered. Her words were as cool as her frosty skin, “Since Loki could not come to me, I had to come to you. Besides, is it so unreasonable for me to see my husband one more time before the world meets its end?”

Sigyn scoffed, but she otherwise held her thoughts behind her teeth.

“You’ve had him all to yourself for so long,” Angrboda said, “I can take your place if you wish. Give me a turn with my love, and you can run and fight with your fellow gods. Loki is, after all, my husband, too.”

“And a good wife you’ve been,” Sigyn mocked. She wanted to refuse, but Angrboda’s proposal was the first to cause her to waver. Her hand jerked as though eager to accept. Her body betrayed the mind. Milky white venom swirled in the heavy bowl and threatened to slosh over the lip. Heimdall’s horn sounded again, and a roll of thunder answered. The call to battle was difficult for her to refuse.

“Stay here,” Loki’s objection interrupted Sigyn’s thoughts and caused Angrboda to frown.

“Both of you. Stay here.”

“Why?” Angrboda asked.

“Let Ragnarok pass us by. Let Asgard fall. Let the world burn, and from its ashes, we can start new. The three of us, together, with a blank slate.”

Angrboda and Sigyn exchanged glances. Neither woman looked friendly to Loki’s suggestion.

Drip.

“I’d rather spill this dish on myself than make such a cowardly decision,” Sigyn said.

“Go, then,” Angrboda said to Sigyn. “You are not bound nor a coward. Fight alongside your brethren. Leave me to protect the craven.”

“Can neither of you see the opportunity we have?” Loki protested. More thunder rolled in the distance as Thor entered the far-off battle.

“Go,” Angrboda encouraged, “you’ve been in the dark for too long. The gods need you.”

Sigyn squinted. She and Angrboda ignored their spouse and the fierce sounds of war while they examined each other. Angrboda clearly bore ulterior motives for her visit. The giantess came near. Despite her size and crown of antlers, she made an attempt to appear endearing. Meanwhile, Sigyn was torn by dueling loyalties: to stand by Loki or leave and fight with her kin.

Loki watched without hiding his misgivings. He only cared about pain and avoiding it.

Drip.

“What is your goal?” Sigyn asked.

“I have been clear with my intentions. My goal is to speak to you about loyalty. I want you to remember that you are a goddess first, one of the Aesir, and married to Loki, the son of a giant, second.”

“He is my husband.”

“He is mine, too, and he is my kind. A son of a giant.”

If she could, Sigyn would have stepped back. She desired more space between her and Angrboda, but the task of catching venom kept her anchored in place.

“This is silly,” Loki said, “You can both have me if you want. Just stay here.”

“You have already had both of us,” Sigyn snapped. The contents of the pail threatened to spill out, but venom spewed from Sigyn’s mouth instead. “This is all because of you, Loki. Those monsters you call children would not even exist if you could only keep to one bed. But nothing is enough for you. You have to take more. You might have a dwarf and an elf wife by now if you weren’t locked away for so long.” Sigyn took in a breath, “How can you receive my unrelenting attention for the ages we’ve been together in this cave and think for a second I’d share you at the first offer? Especially with her?” Sigyn jerked her head in Angrboda’s direction. The giant did not look offended, only amused.

“Does that mean you’re going then?” Angrboda asked.

“Why would I leave?”

“Because I am staying.”

“That’s what I want you both to do,” Loki said. He gestured in exasperation as much as his bonds would allow.

“You are not staying,” Sigyn laughed,” I won’t allow it.”

“How will you stop me? You seem a little preoccupied at the moment.”

Drip.

“Leave,” Sigyn commanded.

“I think I’ll sit here,” Angrboda said. She walked over to a ledge near one wall of the cave. A perch situated well out of arm’s reach and likely too far for Sigyn to fling at with venom from the pail.

The tumult outside grew louder. The battle was undoubtedly fierce to be heard within the cave. Every giant, god, and monster was surely fighting in incredible duels. Sigyn considered the sounds. Was every god truly fated to die at Ragnarok? she thought.

“Why now?” Sigyn asked. “Why come today and not yesterday or the day before? Why come at all?”

“I’ve told you—”

“You’re just as deceitful as him,” Sigyn cut off Angrboda’s words. “You are here in search of something.”

“What is here that I could possibly gain? The realms are hours away from being dismantled, and all that is here is a bound god, a snake that drools, and a pouty goddess.”

Drip.

Sigyn clucked her tongue. “Very well,” she said. She glanced at the pail and then at Loki. Her husband’s face was as white as the venom. His lips said, “Don’t go,” but something in his eyes spoke differently. She never knew what thoughts existed behind those eyes and had no hopes of deciphering Loki’s intentions now. “The vessel is not yet full, but I’ll empty it before I leave.”

“I can take it,” Angrboda said, standing up from her chosen ledge. “Go without delay.

Your presence might turn the battle.”

“That’s what you want,” Sigyn’s brows raised. “You came here for the venom.

Angrboda’s convincing facade fell. Suddenly, she looked concerned for the pail’s contents. “Give me the bowl,” she said coldly.

“What would you do with it?” Sigyn asked.

“Just leave.” The giantess was very close to Sigyn and reached for the venom-catching pail. Sigyn could not move for fear of spilling the venom, but Angrboda’s hand went above, not below. The snake’s fangs yielded a drop, and it landed on the backside of Angrboda’s wrist. She was not prepared for the resulting pain and howled like a wolf in her anguish. Her arm jerked back and knocked the bowl away. Sigyn dove after it in the air and crashed into her moaning rival.

Loki shrieked in horror at the descending wave of cream-white affliction, but the venom did not land on him. Instead, it splashed upon one of his bonds. The bewitched cord dissolved as soon as the venom touched it. Loki wasted no time to escape once he became unbound. With one limb free, he could shapeshift again. He took the form of a fish. His scaly body wriggled out of the bonds and flopped twice on the floor before Loki turned back into a man-sized god.

Sigyn and Angrboda untangled themselves from one another on the stone floor. The pail, which Sigyn held for so long, lay shattered where Loki once was. The god of mischief stepped on the shards with his booted foot.

“Look out!” Sigyn and Angrboda shouted in unison; the snake overhead uncoiled and struck at Loki, but the shapeshifter was quick to morph into something else to avoid his tormentor: a snake-eating wolverine. The snake’s bite missed, and Loki attacked instead. As a beast, he was ruthless. He tore the snake like a ribbon and swallowed the tail end whole. The head tried to writhe away with the remaining body, but Loki pounced on it and painted the cave floor with red entrails.

Afterward, Loki took on his usual form again and looked at both of his wives. A bit of blood dripped from his chin, and his eyes were black and rabid like an animal’s. He wiped his chin off on his wrist. The skin where the ropes had been was red and scarred.

“What now?” Angrboda asked. The antlered crown sat crooked on her head, and her wet hair was brown and muddy from the cave floor.

Loki looked down at the shards of Sigyn’s dish. He picked up one of the larger ones and rubbed it with his thumb like a lucky totem.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then he looked up at Angrboda. “You should have come sooner,” he said before turning into a hawk and flying out of the cave.

“Did you know that the venom would do that?” Sigyn asked after a moment passed between them in the cave.

“I had a hunch,” Angrboda answered.

“And did you think he would leave?”

“I was sure of that.”

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