I looked to Arey for some idea of what I should think of this guy.  She was not dropping a defensive stance, so I decided I wouldn’t either.

“Easy, ladies,” came the masculine voice.  “I mean you no harm.” As our “savior” stepped into the moonlight, I was able to get a better look at him.  He was a middle aged man of average build. The lower half of his face was covered in a well-trimmed, brown beard.  He wore a trenchcoat and a fedora - an actual fedora, not a trilby that so many people mistake for a fedora.

“Surtr’s radiant balls, you don’t,” Arey snapped back at him, and I was a little taken aback at the apparent rage in her voice.  “Never trust a god,” she said, seemingly for my benefit.

Wait, a god?  This is a god?

“Well now, that’s a little harsh, my dear,” came the man’s patronizing tone.  “You can’t simply hate ALL gods. That wouldn’t be right.”

Arey’s braid swung with fury as she shouted back, her index finger practically poking a hole in the man’s shirt.  “Gods did NOTHING for me. Not one stood up to help protect me from Loki’s fanatics when I was chosen to be his Bride.  Odin himself couldn’t convince me to trust a god.”

“Odin himself, eh?” replied the man with an amused tone.  He followed this up by plucking out his right eye and polishing it.  I recoiled in disgust, but it appeared to just be an ordinary glass eye.

This casual act seemed to enrage Arey even further.  “You… you Asgardian yak turd! Not once did you respond to any of my prayers!  And now you have the nerve to show up and play hero?”

“Whoah, whoah, hold up a second,” I finally cut in.  “Who are you? What is going on here?”

“Ah,” the man said, taking a formal tone.  “I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am Odin, Allfather, King of Asgard.  The local parlance is usually to say that I am ‘at your service,’ but normally I am the one being served.”

“You,” added Arey, “are a self-righteous prick who likes to play games with people’s lives.”

Odin just shrugged, as if that were just a minor disrespect.  “Perhaps. Either way, I decided I’d like to meet the Bride, and with the Godwolf chasing her, it seemed like a timely opportunity to pluck her from harm’s way.”  Odin reached into his coat and removed a pair of umbrellas and handed them to us. Mine had a nice image of a snow flurry. Arey’s had a rather large poop emoji emblazoned across it, which she fortunately didn’t seem to recognize.  “Follow me,” Odin continued. “I know of a nice place for us to sit down and chat.”

Odin led us out of the alley and into the street, Arey grumbling unintelligibly.  The drizzling rain had dampened my shirt, and I was immediately grateful for the bra I was wearing.  If not for that, I would have been showing off my nipples for the world to see as soon as I was in enough light for anyone to get a good look.

Eventually, we came to a shady looking dive bar.  A flickering neon sign read “Dragon’s Gate Tavern.”  Odin led us inside and grabbed a table.

“Three flagons of mead,” Odin told the bartender.

“I’m going to need to see some ID,” replied the bartender, eyeing me and Arey.

“You don’t need to see any ID,” Odin said, waving his hand.

“I don’t need to see any ID,” said the bartender with a blank stare.

“Great,” I said under my breath.  “Not only have we been invited to a trashy bar with a Norse god, he happens to be a Norse god who wants to pretend he’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Odin brought back the mead with a smile in spite of the death glare Arey was still giving him.  “It’s so hard to find a place that actually serves mead in this day and age. I suppose there is plenty of variety out there now, but nothing beats the classics when discussing business.”

A small stage was set up toward the back of the bar, and a band was setting up on it.  The drumset had the words “Bloodlusted Peons” in large block letters hand painted on it.

“Well,” said Arey, finally breaking her silent attempt to pop Odin’s skull with her mind, “now you have our attention.  What do you want?”

“Right to it, then,” answered Odin.  “As I said, I wanted to meet our illustrious Bride to be.  It’s not every day one gets to meet a new god.”

“I’m sorry, what?”  I was flabbergasted.  “Did you just say I’m a god?”

Odin’s grin couldn’t be hidden behind his well-kept, brown beard.  “Welcome to the family! Sort of. I mean, it’s less a ‘family’ and more a select group of elite individuals, some of whom actually do happen to be family.  And, strictly speaking, you’re not exactly a god. More like a demigod. Goddess Lite, if you will.”

“I don’t understand, though,” I said.  “How am I a - uh - a god?” I still was reluctant to apply the gendered suffix.

“The betrothal ritual,” Odin began, “empowered you to be the Mother of Monsters.  That power is the power of a god.”

Arey scoffed.  “Heck of a godhood.  Cursed to be an eternal, babymaking slave.”

“Only if the wedding ceremony is completed,” added Odin.  “So long as Loki and his Bride are never united, the Mother of Monsters remains free.  Though she can’t create true monsters on her own, that power is still significant.”

This time Arey seemed genuinely surprised.  “Wait, what do you mean?”

Odin chuckled.  “The monsters she creates are not entirely real, so long as Loki’s power is not added to hers.  She retains her will, and that will can create ethereal monsters. Psychic constructs that can be controlled and then dismissed.”

“They can be controlled…” Arey’s voice trailed off, seemingly in awe.

“I take it you and Astveig hadn’t considered that?”  I asked.

“We spent so much time trying to prevent the betrothal ritual from happening,” she said.  “We never considered what might happen if it were completed without the final wedding ceremony.”  Arey thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. Why do you care so much now? You never did a damn thing to help me before.”

“Ah, but I did step in to help the Bride,” answered Odin.  “It just so happens that your seers missed a couple important details.”

Arey looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a large truck.  “Wait… You mean, all this time, I was never supposed to be Loki’s Bride to begin with?”

“Indeed,” said Odin.  “Your seers are wise, and they can foretell much.  But their prophecy is flawed. I gave up my right eye for some proper foresight and saw the truth.  The prophecy only stated that the Bride would be a woman born under a red sun and that the Bride would be a jötun.  It never said the Bride had to be born a jötun.”

Or even born a woman, apparently.  I left that part unsaid.

“But Midgard doesn’t have a red sun!” Arey countered.

“Not normally.  But the region our lovely Bride comes from is prone to brush fires.  The smoke and ash from such fires can turn the sun blood red…”

“And I was born during one of the worst wildfires in Orange County history,” I finished with a sigh.  My parents told me the story a thousand times. The flood plains where we lived were safe, but up in the hills the fires could wreak havoc.  The day I was born, the winds had shifted northwest and blown the ash over us. The sun looked like a blood red moon behind all that ash.

The band had finished setting up and was now beginning their set.  I guess Bloodlusted Peons was some sort of heavy metal band, but it was hard to tell because their musicians were hardly worthy of the word.  More like “noisemakers” that wouldn’t feel out of place in a construction crew. The lead singer, though, had a fantastic voice. The voice of an angel.  An extremely angry-sounding angel.

“How did you find me, anyway?” I asked, turning to Arey.

“It wasn’t that hard.  The portal has a ‘last used’ function, so I knew where you had portaled to.  After that, it was just a matter of following the path of destruction you left after Fenrir attacked  you.”

“Fenrir?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew what she was referring to.

“The Godwolf.  His name is Fenrir.  He’s also Loki’s son.”  Arey made a disgusted face.

“You’re going to have to kill the beast,” added Odin.  “Once it catches your scent, it will hunt you down until it catches you.  You can never escape it.”

Arey barked a laugh.  “As though you didn’t benefit from this.”  She turned to me. “He just wants you to kill Fenrir because the prophecy also says that Fenrir kills him.”

Odin grimaced.  “I won’t deny that my motives are not entirely selfless, but I really do desire to help you.”

I eyed Odin warily.  “Help me how, exactly?  By pulling me into a shitty dive bar in a city I’ve never been to?”

“Well, every hero deserves a saga, and every saga needs a skald to tell the story.”  Odin’s eye glinted with mischief. “And I think I know exactly the man - or god - for the job.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Could you just speak plainly for once in your - uh - eternity?”

Arey seemed to share my frustration.  “What good is a storyteller in Ragnarök?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” said Odin.  “And this one in particular is no slouch in a battle.  He’s an accomplished warrior himself aside from his art.”

I finally had to ask.  “Who is he?”

Odin said nothing.  He simply nodded toward the stage.

“What, the garbage metal band?” I asked.

“The singer is quite good,” Arey admitted.

Odin didn’t seem interested in saying anything more and simply nodded along with the music.  The really. REALLY. Terrible music.

The angels cry out

For beer and rum

And our quest goes on

To slay the dragon

That ate a demon

And shat a hammer

Of lightniiiiiiiing!

Pretty sure vogons couldn’t write worse than this.  And yet, Odin seemed to be really digging it. I guess when you’re an ageless god you’re allowed to have bad taste.

By the time Bloodlusted Peons had finished their set, I felt like there wasn’t enough “mead” on the planet to make me feel like it was enjoyable.  Aside from the lead singer, it mostly just sounded like their musicians were randomly button mashing like it was a 90’s fighting game.

“That was by far the WORST sound I have EVER heard,” Arey finally said with disgust after a long silence.  “And one of these people is supposed to help us?”

“I won’t have anyone insulting my bandmates while I’m around,” said the lead singer, walking over to our table, running a dark skinned hand through his thick, curly black hair.  His dour look transformed into a charming smile and a wink. “Just kidding,” he laughed. “Odin, old friend, it’s good to see you again! How have you been?”

“Wonderful!” replied Odin.  “Simply wonderful. Keeping up the old fight.”  Odin turned to Arey and me. “Ladies, this is Bilverk, God of Metal.  Bilverk, this is Arey Elisdottir and Chris Howardsdottir, Loki’s Bride.”  Bilverk raised an eyebrow at that last bit. I didn’t bother to correct him on my surname.  I have to admit, I’m a little uncomfortable to find out Odin knows who my father is, but, then, he seems to know a lot about me, even things I didn’t know.

“Please, call me Billie,” said Bilverk - er, Billie.

“Wait,” I said.  “If you’re the God of Metal, then why do you play with these losers?”

“Ah,” replied Billie.  “These gents, what they lack in skill with their instruments they make up for by fully embracing the Spirit of Metal.  They would be excellent warriors in another age.”  

I couldn’t tell if Billie was being honest or just fucking with me.  Possibly both.

“So,” continued Billie, “what brings you all to New York?”

“Well, I was hoping you might be willing to take up a bit of a commission for me,” said Odin with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh?  And what’s that?”

Odin gestured to me.  “Our illustrious Bride here is on a bit of a quest.  I’d like you to write her saga as she fights against Loki.”

“What?!?” I exclaimed.  “No, no, no. I’m not fighting Loki.  I couldn’t hope to succeed at that!”

“Oh, so you just want to offer your hand to Loki so you can become his slave for eternity?”  Odin knew he had me trapped on that point. “The only alternative here is for you to fight.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there.  I don’t really have an alternative.  But how exactly is a heavy metal bard supposed to help?”

“Well, for one,” said Billie.  “I can help you out with that messy hair.”

“What?  My hair?  That doesn’t sound-”

“Yes, indeed!” Odin interrupted.  “Every good saga needs a hero with style!”

“Style?” I questioned.  “What does that have to do with-”

“I agree,” said Arey, denying me the one voice I was hoping would back me up on this.  “Every hero needs to look good, or else no one will give them the time of day.”

My shoulders slumped.  Looks like I didn’t get a choice in this matter.  I was getting a haircut.

Breefolk

I am really excited to introduce Billie. This is a character I've had bouncing around in my head for a while, one that started out funny and just got funnier the longer I thought about it.