He nodded emphatically, smiling.
“Almost a year ago to the day,” she said, “Afreyt and I were walking alone upon the moor north of town, as has been our habit since childhood. We were lamenting Rime Isle's lost glories and lost (or man-renounced) gods and wishing for their return, so that the Isle might have surer guidance and foreknowledge of perils. It was a day of changeable winds and weather, the end of spring, not quite yet summer, all the air alive, now bright, now gloomed over, as clouds raced past the sun. We had just topped a gentle rise when we came upon the form of a youth sprawled on his back in the heather with eyes closed and head thrown back, looking as if he were dying or in the last stages of exhaustion — as though he had been cast ashore by the last great wave of some unimaginably great storm on high.
“He wore a simple tunic of homespun, very worn, and the plainest sandals, worn thin, with frayed thongs, and a very old belt dimly pricked out with monsters, yet from first sight I was almost certain that he was a god.
“I knew it in three ways. From his insubstantiality — though he was there to the touch, I could almost see the crushed heather through his pale flesh. From his supernal beauty — it was… the flame-face, though tranquil- featured, almost as if in death. And from the adoration I felt swelling in my heart.
“I also knew it from the way Afreyt acted, kneeling at once like myself beside him across from me — though there was something unnatural in her behavior, betokening an amazing development when we understood it aright, which we did not then. (More of that later.)
“You know how they say a god dies when his believers utterly fail him? Well, it was as if this one's last worshipper were dying in Nehwon. Or as if — this is closer to it — all his worshippers had died in his own proper world and he whirled out into the wild spaces between the worlds, to sink or swim, survive or perish according to the reception he got in whatever new world whereon chance cast him ashore. I think it within the power of gods to travel between the worlds, don't you? — both involuntarily and also by their own design. And who knows what unpredictable tempests they might encounter in dark mid-journey?
“But I was not wasting time in speculations on that day of miracles a year ago. No, I was chafing his wrists and chest, pressing my warm cheek against his cold one, prising open his lips with my tongue (his jaw was slack) and with my open lips clamped upon his (and his nostrils clipped between my finger and thumb) sending my fresh, new-drawn breaths deep into his lungs, the meanwhile fervently praying to him in my mind, though I know they say the gods hear only our words, no thoughts. A stranger, happening upon us, might have judged us in the second or third act of lovemaking, I the more feverish seeking to rekindle his ardor.
“Meanwhile Afreyt (again here's that unnatural thing I mentioned) seemed to be as busy as I across from me — and yet somehow I was doing all the work. The explanation of that came somewhat later.
“My god showed signs of life. His eyelids quivered, I felt his chest stir, while his lips began to return my kisses.
“I uncapped my silver flask and dribbled brandy between his lips, alternating the drops with further kisses and words of comfort and endearment.
“At last he opened his eyes (brown shot with gold, like yours) and with my help raised up his head, meanwhile muttering words in a strange tongue. I answered in what languages I know, but he only frowned, shaking his head. That's how I knew he was not a Nehwon god — it's natural, don't you think, that a god, all- knowing in his own world, would be at a loss at first, plunged into another? He'd have to take it in.
“Finally he smiled and lifted his hand to my bosom, looking at me questioningly. I spoke my name. He nodded and shaped his lips, repeated it. Then he touched his own chest and spoke the name ‘Loki.’”
At that word the Mouser knew feelings and thoughts similar to those of Fafhrd hearing “Odin' — of other lives and worlds, and of Karl Treuherz's tongue and his little Lankhmarese-German, German-Lankhmarese dictionary that he'd given Fafhrd. At the same moment, though for that moment only, he saw the fire-face so like his own in the flames, seeming to wink at him. He frowned wonderingly.
Cif continued, “Thereafter I fed him crumbs of meat from my script, which he accepted from my fingers, eating sparingly and sipping more brandy, the whiles I taught him words, pointing to this and that. That day Darkfire was smoking thick and showing flames, which interested him mightily when I named it. So I took flint and iron from my script and struck them together, naming ‘fire.’ He was delighted, seeming to gather strength from the sparks and smouldering straws and the very word. He'd stroke the little flames without seeming to take hurt. That frightened me.
“So passed the day — I utterly lost in him, unaware of all else, save what struck his fancy moment by moment. He was a wondrously apt scholar. I named objects both in our Rime tongue and Low Lankhmarese, thinking it'd be useful to him as he got his vision for lands beyond the Isle.
“Evening drew in. I helped the god to his feet. The wan light washing over him seemed to dissolve a little his pale flesh.
“I indicated Salthaven, that we should walk there. He assented eagerly (I think he was attracted by its evening smokes, being drawn to fire, his trumps) and we set out, he leaning on me lightly.
“And now the mystery of Afreyt was made clear. She would by no means go with us! And then I saw, though only very dimly, the figure she had been succoring, tending and teaching all day long, as I had Loki — the figure of a frail old man (god, rather), bearded and one-eyed, who'd been lying close alongside Loki at the first, and I empowered to see only the one and she the other!”
“A most marvelous circumstance indeed,” the Mouser commented. “Perhaps like drew to like and so revealed itself. Say, did the other god by any chance resemble Fafhrd? — but for being one-eyed, of course.”
She nodded eagerly. “An older Fafhrd, as ‘twere his father. Afreyt marked it. Oh, you must know something of this mystery?”
The Mouser shook his head, “Just guessing,” and asked, “What was his name — the older god's?”
(She told him.)
“Well, what happened next?”
“We parted company. I walked the god Loki to Salthaven, he leaning on my arm. He was still most delicate. It seems one worshipper is barely enough at best to keep a god alive and visible, no matter how active his mind — for by now he was pointing out things to me (and indicating actions and states) and naming them in Rimic, Low Lankhmarese — and High as well! — before I named them, sure indication of his god's intellect.
“At the same time he was, despite his weakness, beginning to give me indications of a growing interest in me (I mean, my person) and I was fast losing all doubts as to how I'd be expected to entertain him when I got him home. Now, I was very happy to have got, hopefully, a new god for Rime Isle. And I must needs adore him, if only to keep him alive. But as for making him free of my bed, I had a certain reluctance, no matter how ghostly- insubstantial his flesh turned out to be in closest contact (and if it stayed that way)!
“Oh, I suppose I'd have submitted if it had come to that; still, there's something about sleeping with a god — a great honor, to be sure, but (to name only one thing) one surely couldn't expect faithfulness (if one wanted that) — certainly not from the whimsical, merry and mischievous god this Loki was showing himself to be! Besides, I wanted to be able to weigh clearheadedly the predictions and warnings for Rime Isle I hoped to get from him — not with a mind dreamy with lovemaking and swayed by all the little fancies and fears that come with full infatuation.
“As things fell out, I never had to make the decision. Passing this tavern, he was attracted by a flickering red glow and slipped inside without attracting notice (he was still invisible to all but me). I followed (that got me a look or two, I being a respectable councilwoman) and pressed on after him as he followed the pulsing fire-glow into this inner room, where a great bawdy party was going on and the hearth was ablaze. Before my eyes he melted into the flames and joined with them!
“The revelers were somewhat taken aback by my intrusion, but after looking them over with a smile I merely turned and went out, waving my hand at them and saying, ‘Enjoy!'—that was for Loki too. I'd guessed he'd got where he wanted to be.”
And she waved now at the dancing flames, then turned back to the Mouser with a smile. He smiled back, shaking his head in wonder.
She continued, “So I went home, well content, but not before I'd reserved the Flame Den (as I then learned this place is called) for the following night.
“Next day I hired two harlots for the evening (so there'd be entertainment for Loki) and Mother Grum to be our doorwoman and ensure our privacy.
