The Gospel of Loki

by Joanne M. Harris

Idun cut me a sliver of fruit. “Eat this. It’ll make you feel better.” It did — Idun’s golden apples were known throughout the Nine Worlds. They were Ivaldi’s wedding gift to her when she moved in with Bragi, and as well as conferring perpetual youth (always a bonus when applying for godhood), they also acted as a kind of universal tonic, healing most ills, from warts to the pox, and all but the most lethal of wounds. My cuts and bruises healed at once; the pain in my body disappeared; my glam was restored to its usual strength. “Thanks. That hit the spot,” I said. “Now about that tree . . .” She looked at me with eyes that were innocent as summer sky. “Shouldn’t we tell Bragi first? Or Odin — he’ll know what to do.” “What, and disappoint them if the apples don’t turn out to be like yours? No, let’s just go and check for ourselves. Then, if it’s good news, we’ll all celebrate.” I told you she was innocent. No sense of threat or danger at all. It was like abducting a kitten — but then, I was already running so many risks that the last thing I wanted at that point was a challenge.