[[A story I wrote for the Godsring's Halloween ritual.]]
It was a hallowed evening and all gods and men had partaken in revelries. It had been a day of celebrating life and vibrance in Asgard and Midgard alike, yet an ill-humor had befallen the quick-footed Trickster, Loki.
“It is a sorrowful man, he who welcomes Death,” one God had remarked during the festivities. “Not I to welcome that cold, hungry abyss.”
This aroused the Sly One’s temper. “My daughter’s halls are as fair as these you call home,” Loki declared. “If I bring you three gifts from Helheim, you must admit I am correct.”
“Ah, and what use have we for gifts such as this?” they replied. “What need have we of rot and bone, when the shimmer of vitality here beams so brightly?”
“No morbid gifts will I bring,” Loki promised. “But they will be such gifts as you have never seen before, not even among all your splendor.”
Once the lights had been extinguished and the sounds of mirth subsided into gentle snores, Loki began his work. Loki approached the stables of Odin, wherein slept their child, the Eight-Hoofed Sleipnir.
“Only you may carry me swiftly between this realm and Helheim,” Loki whispered, “I pray you be swift. We must return before first light.”
And so they began their journey towards Helheim. The wind blew more timidly, the stars shown more sparsely, and Loki’s very breath and heartbeat seemed to quiet until only Nothing remained. On they went through the black stillness until a voice called out.
“Who is he that would enter our hall?”
“One who would carry on your memory to the gods themselves,” Loki replied.
Before Loki’s eyes a geist appeared, fair of face and steady of speech. “My memory has long since been lost,” he said forlornly. “I would appreciate my name being welcomed into the ears of the gods. What ask you in return?”
“Why, a handshake to seal the agreement,” Loki said. “Nothing more.”
“It is done.” The geist told Loki his name, shook the Silver-Tongued one’s hand, and vanished in peace.
Loki and Sleipnir continued on their trek to Helheim. The blackness had begun to subside into a mist, and the air felt warmer. On they went through the grey stillness until a voice called out.
“Who is he that would enter our hall?”
“One who would carry on your memory to the gods themselves,” Loki replied. Before Loki’s eyes a geist appeared, dark of face and gentle of speech.
“I have no family left to utter my name,” the geist murmured. “It would be heartening indeed to hear it from the tongues of gods. What ask you in return?”
“Why, a dance to seal the agreement,” Loki said. “Nothing more.”
“It is done.” The geist took Loki’s hand and they danced upon the air and ground until a sigh of contentment filled the void, and the geist vanished in peace.
And so the Mischief-Maker and his steed rode on until the mist subsided and the air awoke with smells of jasmine, apple blossoms, and grass. Loki approached a mighty gate until a voice cried out.
“Who is he that would enter my hall?”
“One who would carry on your glory to the gods themselves,” Loki replied.
There was silence until the Lady of Terrible Beauty herself appeared at the gate. She stood before her realm yet would not permit her father to come any closer.
“The gods have oft compared my hall to a punishment,” Hel said. “It would make my heart glad to have them know the truth. That I welcome all into my hall who have been allowed the gift of rest and calm. Famine and hunger! What famine are you to find in my orchards? What hunger will you see when reunited families and friends toast one another at my tables? We host those who have come before just as nobly and comfortably as my kin who rule Valhalla and Fólkvangr, this they must know.”
“They shall know it,” Loki promised.
“What ask you in return, Father?”
“Why, a happy sigh to seal the agreement,” Loki said. “Nothing more.”
And it was so that his daughter smiled and sighed and the two parted ways once more. Loki and Sleipnir rode back before dawn and found some of the gods still stirring.
“Well?” asked one. “Have you made it to Helheim? Have you seen the dullness of Death?”
“On the contrary,” the Silver-Tongued replied. “It is as I said: the grandeur of Helheim matches that of these halls in Asgard. Beauty and peace and joy can be found there as much as anywhere else in the nine realms.”
“We don’t admit it so!” cried the gods.
“Then may I remind you of our bargain, dear family,” Loki said. “Our agreement was that I shall present you with three gifts, the likes of which you’ve never seen, and you shall concede I am right.”
“Let’s have these gifts then,” the gods demanded.
“My first gift is the handshake of a dead man,” Loki said, extending a hand into the air before him. “My second gift is the footfall of a dead man,” Loki said, extending a foot into the air before him. “And my third gift is the breath of the dead,” Loki said, blowing into the air before him. “These three gifts I have brought you, and so you must agree.”
“Tricks and lies!” the gods bellowed. “You have brought us nothing!”
“I have brought you three things you have never seen. The fact you don’t see them now either is no matter to our agreement.”
The gods begrudgingly admitted that Loki had won the bet. Loki spoke the names and tales of the geists he met on his travels, and relayed his daughter’s pleas for understanding. And so it was that the forgotten were remembered and the reputation of Helheim was seen with more fairness by gods and men alike.
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