Loki Ragnarok by Mark Binder

Author:Mark Binder [Binder, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Light Publications
Published: 2017-10-08T00:00:00+00:00

The Goat Story

The end will come soon enough.

Ragnarok is near, but not just yet.

Three winters cold shiver over tomorrow’s battlefield.

Dawn is distant but we shall not spend our last night

in death-like slumber.

What tale shall I tell thee?

What webs of words shall I weave?

Shall I tell thee how Loki brought to the gods all their treasures – Sif’s golden hair, Odin’s spear that will never miss, even Thor’s hammer Mjölnir?

Shall I tell thee how Loki rescued Odin and Thor from certain death?

Shall I tell stories of Loki’s heroism and generous gifts all received with ingratitude?

Nay. On the eve of a slaughter, a tale of laughter.

Let’s start near the end.

A thieving ice giant named Thiazi, stole Idun’s golden apples – that fruit that keeps the gods young.

As usual, the gods were useless. It was up to Loki.

So, I filched the apples back, and fled, with Thiazi in close pursuit.

It was a heroic race, but at the end, Odin killed Thiazi the giant, and I returned to Idun her fruits, and to the gods long life. All was well!

Except Thiazi’s daughter, Skadi was furious.

Skadi came to Valhalla for retribution. In exchange for her father’s life, she demanded Odin’s head.

(I would have agreed, but Odin was disinclined.)

I suggested that they marry Skadi to Norjd, god of the sea. Did the watery wedding temper the ice giantess’s sorrow? No. Skadi moaned and groaned and wept huge slushy waves of tears.

Again, Odin bade me fix the problem, ere the nine worlds drown in Skadi’s sorrow.

I reasoned that laughter can stop any pain, for a moment at least. So I, Loki, told Skadi a story.

Early on the morning before the long winter’s feast, I went to market for a goat and a great cask of rare dwarf ale. I found both beer and billy goat with no great difficulty. I shouldered the cask on my right, held the goat’s rope in left, and headed for home.

Soon, it began to rain.

I set down the cask and drew out an umbrella.

But a closed umbrella is like ale without a mug, useless. It was raining buckets, yet I dared not let go of the goat’s rope. Goats, as all know, are likely to take flight. Still, it takes two hands to open an umbrella, so I tied the great goat to my testicles.

(“You tied a goat to your testicles?” interrupted Skadi the ice giantess.

“Aye, my testicles,” answered I. “For I could think of nothing stronger nor close at hand than my hairy nut sack to tether a wild beast.”

That shut Skadi up with a blush and I continued…)

The umbrella I opened wide,

like a virgin on her wedding night.

The cask I hoisted onto my shoulder.

Then I looked to the goat.

It was still securely tethered.

Both my hands were filled,

so I decided to keep my billy firmly attached to my boys, and headed for home.

The stubborn goat was champing at some weeds

and would not leave.

So I kicked it.

A great mistake.

Only momentary was the pause.

Then away went the goat, and I no choice but

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