Carver laughed. “Nothing that you haven’t attempted yourself in the past, Loki. I am but an amateur when it comes to trickery. This circle is merely our insurance policy, that you will listen and consider our plea.”
Loki poked a finger at the flames cautiously, then, seeing that they couldn’t burn him, gave a chuckle himself. “Why, it’s a simple sealing spell, isn’t it? You think that you can keep me locked here forever?”
Odin looked between the two, his face grim, but he stayed silent. There was a glimmer of admiration in his eyes when he focused on Carver, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“Let me explain in brief, Loki,” Carver said. “I am a lich, as you know. Undying. This mountain on which we stand is a place of great legend and mythical significance to its people. I can draw marvelous amounts of power from within its ancient stores. Do you see where I am going with this?”
Loki folded his arms in on himself, staring at the ground, his lip turning up, making him look like an impetuous boy. Sealing a god within a magical prison wasn’t something even Carver would normally be capable of, but circumstances were different. We were basically standing on one gigantic arcane battery.
“Correct,” Carver said, as if Loki had given an answer that none of us had heard. “I can do this all day. All week. All month, and all year. Forever, if that is what it takes, until you agree to help us.”
Odin made a noise from somewhere within his beard that sounded like a stifled chuckle. Loki bared his teeth, making a low snarl.
“Then speak what you wish,” he growled. “Tell me what you want and let’s get this over with.”
“I won’t mince words,” Carver said, gesturing to the sky. “Those thirteen stars – a servant of the Old Ones has committed mass injustices in favor of her masters. Something horrible is coming, and we need your assistance.”
Loki laughed, his eyes burning sinister in the light of Carver’s flames. “Fool. If you truly believe that a god will stoop to help you, lich, and in a battle that could very well spell my doom, then – ”
“Laevateinn.”
Loki’s voice stopped streaming from his throat. His lips remained in the exact position they were when he stopped talking. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to burn with so much more fury as they looked into Carver’s face.
“Laevateinn,” Carver repeated.
“You cannot ask that of me,” Loki hissed. “Not my blade.”
I knew exactly what they were talking about, and why Loki was so reluctant to turn it over. Laevateinn was his sword. It was ancient, and powerful, and as personal to him as the spear Gungnir was sacred to Odin himself. Not just an armament, but an emblem, a symbol of who and what Loki stood for. It was his brand, and knowing how much Loki took pride in his brand, asking for Laevateinn was like slapping him in his face, then spitting in his mouth for good measure.
“We only mean to borrow your relic,” Carver
said. “When our ritual is complete, it will be returned to you unsullied, unmolested.”
“And what proof do I have that you speak the truth?” Loki shouted, his eyes now totally black from rage. “I have no evidence that you will give it back to me once you finish.”
Carver shrugged. “You will just have to take my word.”
“You,” Loki snarled, pointing to me. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I know that this is your fault. Twice now you have stolen from me.”
I lifted my hands up, palms out. “Listen. It’s either this, or the universe ends. No universe, no Happy, Inc. Your call.”
Loki’s hands curled in frustration, like he wanted to reach through the fire and wring my neck. Keep the sealing spell up, I thought to Carver. Please keep the damn spell up.
“If this is not returned to me, mortal, I will come and find you. I will feed you your own entrails, cooked upon a fire built from your own bones.”
“If you wish,” Carver said.
“Dude,” I murmured. “Don’t speak for me.”
Loki scowled at me again. I could feel his anger searing my very soul. He reached for the sword, putting his hand into himself, his fingers pushing and digging until he was elbow-deep into his own chest. I watched in horror, then amazement as he pulled a sword out of his own torso, its edge bloodless, but gleaming with a deep scarlet glow.
“Take it,” Loki said through gritted teeth, holding his hand up, then releasing the sword.
Laevateinn flew to me of its own accord, and I reached out to catch it by the hilt. Like Vanitas, the sword was light, effortless to hold. I placed it in my backpack with the other blades.
“And that makes four,” Carver said, “for as long as Belphegor keeps her promise.” He looked at Mason thoughtfully, then rubbed his chin. “There is still the question of acquiring an angelic sword.”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “I still need to figure that out.”