Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Ruled by Choices: The Midgard Born Series, #4
Ruled by Choices: The Midgard Born Series, #4
Ruled by Choices: The Midgard Born Series, #4
Ebook256 pages3 hours

Ruled by Choices: The Midgard Born Series, #4

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Loki is the final ruler of Asgard —  not his choice, but his destiny. He didn't used to believe in destiny when he lived on Midgard. Now, he has no say in the matter. Destiny is a part of life on Asgard. It could be said that the gods created it, but that wouldn't strictly be true.

 

But does Loki have any support amongst the ranks of the ascended? Or is Odin and Freyja's scheming going to win the day, with a little help from the god with a powerful hammer?

 

It's time to take sides. It's time to tell everyone still on Midgard the truth. It's time to face up to the enemy.

 

Identities will be revealed, beliefs will be challenged and maybe, just maybe, love will win the day.

 

Get your copy today and join Siri and Kyr for their final battle — to find out just who they really are inside.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJuliet Boyd
Release dateAug 18, 2017
ISBN9781386166603
Ruled by Choices: The Midgard Born Series, #4
Author

Juliet Boyd

Juliet lives in Somerset in the south-west of England. She used to work in administration, but now writes full-time. Her main writing interests are fantasy, science fiction, weird fiction, horror and flash fiction. Details of her work are available on her website.

Read more from Juliet Boyd

Related to Ruled by Choices

Titles in the series (4)

View More

Related ebooks

Fantasy For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Ruled by Choices

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Ruled by Choices - Juliet Boyd

    Chapter 1

    A CUTTING BREEZE whistled through the gaps in the bricks of Loki’s old house. Bricks that were disturbingly bright to tiny eyes, being thickly coated in gold, even though there were many imperfections when you got up really close. The illusion that they were solid chunks of the glorious metal had worked well, while they were still standing in all their glory, cared for and polished — not by him, of course — and no great battles were in progress. No longer could that be said to be true.

    Only one wall still stood proud. It was the north-facing aspect, although it now had an unanticipated south-facing aspect. It appeared lonely and desolate. It felt lonely and desolate. It used to look out onto stunning, manicured gardens, with vibrant blooms in reds, golds and purples, delineated by gravel paths, punctuated with statues. There had been many places to sit and enjoy the beauty of its existence. Now, the gardens were nothing more than a receptacle for the smashed-up debris of long-gone lives. There was nothing remotely salvageable. Not that he was in any position to rebuild his home at present. That seemed like a wish that would never be fulfilled, given his situation.

    He’d secreted himself in one of the breeze-sucking gaps in the wall, not only to shelter from the cold, which hadn’t worked, but to hide from the danger that surrounded him from every focussed eyeball — and even a few of the unfocussed ones. Hiding had become his life. If you could call it a life. He might as well be dead for all that he was enjoying it. Well, technically he had died. Sort of.

    Existing in the form of a beetle wasn’t exciting, or even interesting. It was a state, that was all. Always looking up at everything. Always climbing to be able to see further than your own nose. His not-so-delightfully mosaic eyesight also made him feel queasy if he moved too fast, but he knew that if he transformed into anything bigger, he was done for. Or that if he became a fly, for example, he would become as reckless as they naturally were and give himself away in an instant.

    That was certain. No doubts or shadows.

    He slipped out of his hiding place and carefully, nervously, crept down to the bottom of the wall. He felt no sadness leaving his resting place for the night, even if it had been his former home. He began to trundle across the rough surface of mighty mountains and cavernous dips, that normally he would be able to step over without even thinking. When perched high on a pile of bricks, he could see where he wanted to be and anyone who might be approaching. When he was down in the dips, all he could do was listen and guess.

    This was the glamorous new life of an adopted god.

    ODIN STAMPED HIS foot on the dusty ground and a barrage of small particles jumped many times their own height. The ground where Loki stood shook as if a devastating earthquake had hit it. He bounced a couple of times, his spindly legs somehow surviving the strain of landing. Luckily, he didn’t end up on his back. Being helpless, even for a short time, would not bode well.

    He can’t have disappeared. He has to be lurking around here somewhere. There are hardly any buildings left and this place isn’t that big. Why, in the name of Asgard, was he given such powers? That someone so conniving and treacherous should be allowed to change form with barely a blink of an eye, is … is ….

    Odin’s face was flushed with red. Freyja lifted her hand and placed it upon his shoulder. She patted it in typically patronising fashion. Now, now, dear, let’s not get all rumpled and ugly. It doesn’t become you.

    He shrugged her off. I am not rumpled, or ugly.

    You should see your face, Loki thought. Life truly wasn’t fair, because if he’d said something like that to Odin, even when they were on speaking terms, all the vilest powers of the universe would’ve been set upon him.

    She continued on. There’s no point in stressing so much. He’ll have to come out of hiding sooner or later. He won’t remain as whatever he’s transformed into forever. He’s too vain for that. Be patient, my dear, and he will get what’s coming to him.

    Pah! Loki beetle-huffed. Too vain? Who was she to talk? Vain was the least of what he was. He chittered in frustration, so low the volume that a normal person living on Midgard would never hear — but what about a god? He clamped his mouth shut, in a way that only a beetle with a godly brain could do, so hard and fast that it sent a shudder through his body. It felt so bad he involuntarily defecated. He had this urge to use the emitted substance as a protective shield, but quickly diverted his thoughts. That, he would not be able to stomach.

    Odin cocked his head to the side. His furrowed brow, his intense concentration focussed in Loki’s direction, did not invoke a feeling of calm. Loki froze.

    When transforming himself into the form of this lowliest of creatures, he had tried to make his shell as bland as possible, but you could never be certain with these things — human forms were so much easier to manipulate, because you didn’t just have to go on the visual, you knew how they worked inside, which affected how you looked, moved, existed. He had never been inside an actual beetle, and he couldn’t see what he looked like. There were no handy beetle-sized mirrors on Asgard. He was an odd mixture of essence, you had to draw essence to become something, and guesswork. If his body was anything other than a solid black, he might be noticeable to a keen eye. If he’d got an interior component a little skewed, he might be wibbling rather than wobbling as he moved. None of that would be good. It had often been said, by those who knew him and those who didn’t, that disaster was his middle name. His first being chaos.

    Odin began to scan the ground. Did you hear that noise? he said.

    He’d only heard something. That was a good thing. Possibly.

    Hear what?

    That noise.

    Freyja huffed out a breath, lazily shaking her head at the same time. You think he’d be stupid enough to make a noise? He might be crazy, but he doesn’t have a death wish.

    Odin stared straight at him. Loki held his beetle breath in tight. He steeled himself for a long face off, then thought better of it. A beetle wouldn’t freeze just because someone was looking at him, not at that distance. A beetle would go about its daily business, not even knowing something was going on that involved him. Her. Them. It.

    He turned side on to Odin and began to crawl away, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, nonchalant beetle to a tee. Maybe.

    Another beetle came out from under a brick right in front of him. Loki was stumped for a moment, but reckoned he ought to attempt some beetle-like interaction. He tried to move the muscles that would raise an eyebrow and cock his head to one side, if he were in godly form. Obviously, it didn’t work. The other beetle turned away, as if in disgust. He was clearly an ugly specimen, which was a little disconcerting, and he spoke rotten beetle. He continued on, not daring to look back.

    Look, if you kill every tiny creature on Asgard in order to find Loki, you’ll ruin the ecosystem, such that it is. I think there’s been enough ruining of things here to last us several lifetimes. Not that we have several lifetimes anymore, if that’s to be believed. He’ll have to show himself sooner or later. I really don’t believe he can live the life of an insect forever. No one could.

    Loki thought he heard a shudder in her voice. He studiously kept walking.

    Odin grunted. How long was he pregnant with Sleipnir? Nearly one old Midgard year, I believe.

    Yes, dear, but that was an exception. He didn’t have a lot of choice. Even he wouldn’t kill his own child by making it impossible for it to be born. Anyway, if truth be told, I’d quite like to be a horse running through the fields like that. It must be wonderful to be so carefree. He probably enjoyed it.

    Her voice sounded dreamy.

    Loki remembered the pregnancy. It had been anything but dreamy. A heavy belly from a child was nothing like a heavy belly from eating. He preferred the latter. But, he could stay in another form for a very long time, if he so desired. She was right about that.

    He breathed out deeply and quickened his pace a little. This was actually working. He was a beetle personified. No, that was wrong. He was a person, a god, beetlefied. He was beginning to believe all would be okay.

    Then, something slammed down over the top of him and the world turned to black.

    THIS ONE’S DIFFERENT from all the other beetles out there, Odin said, studying Loki through the glass dome he was now displayed within, in great detail. The colouring’s wrong. I’ve never seen a golden beetle with a red triangle on its back before. Have you?

    Loki beetle-spluttered. No wonder they’d found him. He had a great big warning sign across his back.

    Honestly, darling, I’ve never, in my many lives, studied beetles, or even had the desire to. They’re not exactly entertaining, or pretty. It’s much like every other tiny bug. I find it quite distasteful.

    Even though it’s gold?

    So drôle. You’re excelling yourself. Why don’t you kill it? Then, you can be done with it and we can do something more interesting. This is so boring my brain is turning to mush.

    Odin straightened up and crossed his arms. His biceps looked disturbingly large from Loki’s angle. Because, as you said so very eloquently, I can’t go around killing everything in sight, because of the poor old ecosystem.

    She lifted her hand and studied her nails, which she’d somehow managed to paint blood red. Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I? What was I thinking? Who cares about that? Not me. Just do something, will you? Please?

    Odin snorted. I’m not killing it. If I kill it like this, I might not know if it was him. What if he doesn’t turn back in death? He grunted so loudly the dome shook. Maybe there is a whole species that looks like this.

    You need one of those books they used to make down there. They had everything catalogued. People really did study these things. She leaned in close, her eyes becoming huge oceans of venom before him. Serious waste of time.

    That may be true, but the books all went, didn’t they? Paper burns readily in fire.

    I didn’t say they still had them. Do you ever listen properly?

    Do you ever stop complaining?

    Loki snorted, which ended up as a little bit of spittle ejaculating from his beetle-mouth.

    Odin began to pace. He needs to transform, and when he does, that’s when I’ll kill him.

    But he’ll be bigger then, more difficult to kill. And you can’t make him transform if he doesn’t want to, however much you might like to try. As I said before, he’s not stupid.

    Odin waggled a finger at her. Ah, yes. I know. That, my dear, is why I’ve decided I’m going to leave him here, without food. When he gets desperate, he’ll change, just to get out.

    Who says?

    I say. He likes … loves food.

    And everything you say is just so amazing, Freyja mumbled.

    There was a pause between them that crackled with anger, before Odin stormed off. Shortly after, Freyja ambled after him. She knew when she was on to a good thing. She wasn’t going to let her quarry go over a minor disagreement. Loki smirked. So nice of you to tell me all your plans, he mused. Then again, it could be a trap. It would’ve been if he’d been the one outside the prison dome.

    He beetle-wandered around the perimeter of his prison. There were no gaps between the edge of the glass and the table. It was made of a single piece of wood, not slats, which meant that the air would eventually run out. He would die. How much air did a beetle use? It could be days. How unpleasant.

    He bumped his body up against the side. A minuscule vibration, with an equally minuscule shift. Not sealed. He might be strong in his beetle form, but with the dome being in the middle of a table, it would make a ridiculous amount of noise to move it when the glass scraped along the surface and an enormous clatter when it fell to the ground and shattered.

    The only way he could get out, and have a chance of saving himself, was to transform. He hated it when others outguessed his moves.

    He was sure Odin would be watching. Or he would have someone else watching. That was more likely. He commanded compliance. Loki started to scan the walls for spy holes, but they were too far away.

    If he became godly, or human, he had no weapons to fight back with when the inevitable attack occurred. He couldn’t make them out of thin air. Transform quickly, get out, and then become something else? That was a kind of a plan, except, he wasn’t at all sure where he was and what was the best way out. He’d thought everything that could remotely be called a building had been destroyed. He was wrong.

    So, where was he? There were walls on all four sides, but no windows, and a stone staircase in the far corner to his left. It could be a cellar. That would make sense. Underground structures were less likely to have been ruined. It was very grand for a cellar. The bricks weren’t the gold-covered ones, but there were carvings, wall hangings, gold ornaments of every shape and size. And a highly polished floor. It was the kind of thing that … Freyja would have built.

    He was pretty sure his house hadn’t had a cellar, but details had never been his thing, unless he was scheming. Then, they were definitely his thing, until he reached a point where he got bored.

    If he could find a gap in the brickwork and become a worm, then maybe … but all that soil in the mouth. Ugh. And never knowing how much further it was to the top. Gah! Were there any animals that didn’t breathe and were so microscopic that they couldn’t be seen? He began to scan the surface of the table for anything he might be able to emulate. But microscopic, when you didn’t have a microscope, wasn’t the easiest of things.

    He was so engrossed in his search that he didn’t hear the steps approaching. He jumped, like a god, not a beetle, when someone tapped on the glass dome and the bell-like sound nearly deafened him. He tried not to look up, but his curiosity betrayed him. It took him a moment to recognise who it was, especially as they didn’t speak. Incomprehensible. Why would Ullr visit him? Was he the guard? They’d rarely spoken in their past lives unless they’d had to, or even nodded heads. He couldn’t imagine any other reason. Unless … Thor’s adopted child was here to taunt. Well, taunt away. Sticks and stones and all that.

    Ullr looked from side to side, as if he were making sure there was no one else around. Where did he think this was? In one of those horrendous mystery dramas they used to have on the televisions in Midgard? There was no one else in the room. The place was more deserted than a desert.

    Ullr leaned close and whispered. Is that you?

    Well, even if he could have answered, he wasn’t that stupid, as Freyja had kindly reminded Odin.

    The next thing Ullr did was so quick, Loki didn’t even have time for a beetle-gasp.

    TRAVELLING BENEATH THE shirt of a hot and sweaty, nervous god was not something to which Loki had ever imagined he’d be subjected. Life was full of unpleasant surprises, so it seemed. Had anyone ever died of sweat inhalation? Ugh. He didn’t want to be the first. He crawled up Ullr’s mat of tortuously curly chest hair until he could peek out at the neckline of his shirt. It helped how he was feeling on a number of levels, one of them being seasickness caused by the motion, with no field of reference to centre his stomach.

    They were already outside — that was good — and, as far as he could tell, heading in exactly the wrong direction from where he wanted to be, which was the great throne. He wanted to be where he could see the whole of Midgard in minute detail, so that he could plan … something. Instead, they were approaching Yggdrasil. He’d seen enough of that tree recently. He didn’t want to be anywhere near it. What was Ullr playing at?

    Loki punched him in the chest with his tiny feet. It felt good to vent his frustration. He couldn’t imagine Ullr had even noticed it, and he gave no indication he had.

    Eventually, Ullr stopped at the root that held Asgard proudly above Midgard, crouched down and put his hand in to pick Loki up. Ullr placed him gently on the ground, then stood up straight, still in shifty-suspect mode.

    Loki braced for the stamping foot, because he didn’t have time to transform, but it didn’t come. Instead, Ullr spoke. Look, if you are Loki, and I think you are, because … because a real beetle wouldn’t have wanted to see the view, please use the tree to guide yourself back down to Midgard. You need to find somewhere to hide. You’re not safe here. Everyone I’ve met wants to kill you. They don’t want you to be leader, even though it was prophesied. They want to change destiny.

    But Ullr didn’t want to join in? Loki didn’t move. He ought to move. He was giving himself away by not doing anything. Tricks upon tricks and all that. But Ullr started to speak again before he’d decided which move to make.

    "I know you’re not as bad as they make you out to

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1