Deities, Dreams, & Riddles

Loki - God of Mischief

The maniacal laugh and glowing eyes that haunt my dreams wakes me around the 2 ahn of the morning. Laying there listening to the heavy breathing of Jor's sleeping form pulls the last fog of the dream from my mind and ears, but the rapid beating of my heart takes a few ehn more to settle. The voice says nothing but riddles about bargains and payments that make no sense to me and fade with each ehn I am awake. But as good as life appears, I just feel a cloud looming somewhere unseen.  A sudden fullness in my breasts draws me out from the warmth of the furs and to the nursery were our son is just stirring. Swaddling the infant in the plush pelt from his cradle and brushing my robe open he attaches his hungry mouth the offered nipple as I hold him to me. Quiet in the house is a rarity except during these early ahns of the day, a time of darkness and silence. There are no slaves bustling around, the men are abed, but the few scattered around the property on guard duty. I love this time, the darkness and quiet sooth my mind, body and spirit. The babe stirs and I stop to move him from the right to the left arm and breast, cradling his small form to me as he latches onto the nipple greedily to drink his fill. My steps as they always seem to, take me toward the garden. Stepping through the doors of the main room outside, a gentle wind lifts my unbound hair from my shoulders and brushes them in a cascade around the drinking baby.  There is this spot to the left down the path just a few steps, not far from the herb patch for the kitchen where the three moons when full can be seen in all their majesty. They are not full tonight only quarters, but the small garden, bathed in their silvery glow gives an almost mystical feel to the air. This spot is of  all in this rebuilt house, where I am most at peace. I can hear the lapping of the canals in the distance, but the scent of the flowers, herbs, and foliage perfumes the air around me in an intoxicating way meant to relax the mind. Loki released the second nipple and I moved him to my shoulder. We rock and I pat his small back until a healthy burp escapes his tiny lips. Still wrapped in the fur I lay the baby on the grass, closed my robe then laid next to him, pulling the child to me. The dew feels cool against my cheek and I can feel it seeping through the light rence of the robe beneath my hip and knee. I don't care. Staring into my son's small face I trace my finger along the fat cheek. Will he be the start of a new legacy? Will this small child grow up and meet his father's expectations? It seems such a large burden for such a small baby. To me  he is just a baby, helpless, mine to protect and nourish, Jor's to teach and turn into the man he expects. Will he live up to his name? Why did Jor name him after the God of Mischief? I sometimes wonder if that is an omen. Are his Gods real? Priest Kings are real, though not Gods, Kurii are real and not Gods either. Thirty years spent in Kassau, I am well aware of Jor's Gods, but do I believe in them? I am not sure what I believe. Loki stirs in the pelt he is wrapped in and with gentle coos against his tiny ear I lull him back to sleep. With such questions circling I scoop the baby back into my arms and rise. I close my eyes and inhale once more the perfumed and silver evening air and make my way back into the house. Loki is returned to his cradle in the nursery and I slip back into our room and onto the couch. Jor's breathing hasn't changed, still the deep steady breath of sleep, pressing against him I let myself drift off leaving questions of deities and riddles to another time.