Heimdall's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Heimdall stood at the foot of the rainbow bridge, sword drawn, and swore Loki would not cross it alive. He was the watchman of the gods. His eyes reached across nine realms. His ears caught wool growing on sheep and grass pushing through soil. No thief, no giant, no lie had ever slipped past him. Tonight the trickster had come to ruin Asgard, and Heimdall meant to kill him on the bright pathway between worlds. He heard Loki's heartbeat first. It beat fast and uneven near the middle of the bridge. Heimdall smiled and started forward. Then he stopped. A traveler walked toward him from the far end, an old woman leaning on a staff. A raven flapped low over the glowing planks. A hunched beggar crouched by the rail. Three shapes. One heartbeat. The bridge held only one intruder, and Loki wore any face he pleased. "Show yourself," Heimdall called. His voice rang across the shimmering span. The old woman laughed with Loki's laugh. "Which self, brother? Strike the wrong one and you murder an innocent on your own bridge. Odin will hear of it." The raven croaked the same words. The beggar mouthed them too. Heimdall's senses gave him everything and told him nothing. He could track Loki anywhere. He could not tell the mask from the man. Heimdall lowered his sword. He shut his golden eyes. He stopped watching and only listened. Sheep breathed in distant fields. The bridge hummed under his boots. Then he found it again, that single fast heartbeat, and this time he followed it alone. It did not come from the woman. It did not come from the raven. It thumped from the beggar crouched by the rail. He opened his eyes and moved. The woman raised her staff to block him. His shoulder passed through her like fog. The raven scattered into nothing. He was illusions, all of them, thin as breath. Only the beggar was warm, was solid, was breathing hard. Heimdall drove him against the rail and pressed the blade to his throat. The beggar's shape melted. Strawberry hair spilled loose. Loki grinned up at him, thin and pale, blood at the edge of his lip. "Clever," he whispered. "You closed your eyes. Nobody ever closes their eyes." "I hear your heart," Heimdall said. "I will always hear it now." He pulled back his arm to strike. Loki's hand shot to his own belt. He hurled a fistful of black dust into Heimdall's face. It was not smoke. It clung to his skin and dulled every sense at once. The sheep went silent. The bridge went silent. Loki's heartbeat vanished. Heimdall swung blind and hit only glowing air. When the dust cleared, the pathway lay empty. Loki was gone, and the watchman who heard everything now heard nothing at all.