Mimir was right. Knowledge is dangerous. All I could think of was the words the Oracle had spoken to me, words that I now wished I could unlearn. Was this what the Old Man felt? Was that why he was so alone? I sensed that perhaps it was, and if I could have confided in him . . .

But how could I think of doing that, knowing what I did now? No, my only chance was to find a means of diverting the Oracle’s prophecy, or at least of escaping my part of it.

It was futile, Mimir said. I had already heard it.

And if I hadn’t heard it? Would that have made it avoidable? It hurt my head just thinking about that one, which I guess was what Mimir wanted. So . . .

What problem did the Oracle have against Your Humble Narrator? Why was I such an integral part in its vengeance against the gods? I wasn’t even in Asgard when Odin sent him spying on the Vanir. Of all the gods, then, surely I was the least likely candidate to attract his hostility?

Later I realized; it wasn’t me. But I was Odin’s brother-in-blood. Odin cared for me, needed me, which was why Mimir had set me up. Yes, he set me up – and in so doing, taught me the most important lesson I was ever to learn in my life:

Never trust anyone: a friend, a stranger, a lover, a brother, a wife. But most of all, remember this: Never trust an Oracle.

Lesson 5 Names

LESSON 5

Names

A named thing is a tamed thing.

Lokabrenna

WHOEVER SAID names can’t hurt you was either drunk or stupid. All words have power, of course, but names are the most potent of all, which is why the gods had so many. To name a being is to subdue it, as I’d learnt on that first day, when Odin called me from Chaos. I’d been Wildfire incarnate, free and in-corruptible. I became the Trickster; Hearth Fire; his creature, named and tamed.

Not any more, however. What I’d heard from the Oracle had given me a different perspective. It made me jumpy; suspicious. It made me lose my happy thoughts. Well, now was the time, I told myself, to start putting to good use some of the supplies I’d put by for later use; the scraps of information; the favours due, the little pieces of armour that would shield me at Ragnarók.

The most important of these, of course, was the favour I’d managed to wangle from Hel; a favour based on my promise to somehow deliver Golden Boy into her adoring arms.