by C. Gockel
Sparkling dust explodes from the book and Lionel begins sneezing.
“What’s wrong?” Tara cries.
Sleeve covering his face, he gasps out between sneezes, “Spell … in … book.” He can’t get the tickle out of his nose, or even stand up straight. Tears fall from his eyes. It’s all very unelvish.
He’s struck by a gust of cool air. Lionel sniffs, straightens, and sees that Tara has opened the window. The sparkling dust is streaming from the room.
“Why put sneezes in a book?” Tara murmurs, and then laughs. “What am I asking? Loki is the God of Mischief. Are you all right?”
Lionel can’t answer. He’ll sneeze again. Instead, he walks over to the window and takes a few deep, careful breaths, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.
Tara leans on the windowsill beside him. He can feel the press of her skirts, even if his vision is still blurry. “It’s pretty,” Tara says.
Wiping his eyes, he sees a meadow filled with wildflowers. The forest is encroaching on three sides, but it is held at bay by a crumbling stone wall. From between the wall’s stones, small flowers spring. At the far end, there is a rickety wooden gate.
“It is picturesque,” he says. He almost turns away, but then hears Thor roar, “I’ll get you yet, you rat!” followed by a shriek of squirrellish laughter. The grass and wildflowers move as though a very small creature is running through them. Storm clouds form above.
At the furthest end of the meadow, a small squirrel jumps atop the wall, just beside the gate. “Kiss my tail, God of Blunder!” shrieks Ratatoskr. He rears on his hind legs and begins shaking his hindquarters in Tara’s and Lionel’s direction.
“I did not know squirrels could twerk,” Tara says with a giggle.
“Gibber—” Lionel’s comment is interrupted by a roar so deep and fierce that the window panes rattle. Thor comes charging out of the forest waving his hammer, his back to Lionel and Tara. He throws the weapon. Sparks fly. Cackling, Ratatoskr leaps from the wall to the top of the ancient wooden gate. Lionel feels the heat of magic on his face, the surge that can only be from a World Gate opening, and then Ratatoskr vanishes. Thor’s hammer loops from the top of the wall and back to Thor, smashing the ancient physical gate as it does. Roaring in anger, hammer back in his hands, Thor runs over to the remains of the wooden gate and begins pounding it into splinters.
Tara draws back. “Lionel, there was a gate there, wasn’t there? I mean, a World Gate. Is he destroying it?”
“Yes, there is a World Gate there,” Lionel says. “But Thor cannot destroy it. Only Loki—and maybe Odin—can do that.” He shuts the window, not wanting to hear any more of Thor’s grunting and cursing.
He turns around, and finds Tara meeting his gaze. Very softly, she says, “Then maybe you can take me through it? Even if it is not home …”
Lionel swallows. “Ratatoskr is a servant of the Norns. That gate must go to Nornheim.”
Tara lifts her chin. “It’s getting late, Lionel.”
Lionel’s eyes slide to the window. She is right.
“I’d rather go to Nornheim than take the oath,” Tara declares, and Lionel wonders if it is human to make brave, yet hasty decisions, on the spur of the moment without knowing the full consequences.
“No, Tara,” Lionel says, holding up his hands. “Any other realm, but in Nornheim, there are spiders and adze—”
“Adze?” says Tara.
Lionel tries to find an equivalent. “Zombies …”
Her mouth falls open.
“… with wings,” he finishes.
Her face crumples and her nails bite into her palms. “That’s my choice? Slavery or becoming a zombie?” Her lips curl. “I’ll take zombies then. At least I could fight!”
“We still have time, Tara,” Lionel says. “We just have to keep looking.” He turns to the side, but she puts her hand on his arm. His eyes slide from her fingers, to her hand, and up her arm. He finds her eyes on his.
“Promise me, you’ll send me to Nornheim, if it comes to that.” Her eyes are wide, imploring. “Just push me through,” she says, and this time her chin trembles.
Tired of resisting, he steps forward and cups her face in his hand. “Never,” he whispers. “If you go, I will go, Tara.”
She blinks, and her eyes sparkle. “Cellmates to the end,” she whispers so softly that he thinks he might have missed the words if his ears weren’t pointed.
Lionel tilts his head.
Clutching his hand, she looks down and stammers, “It’s a play on ‘soulmates’ … I… just …”
“I like it,” he says, stroking the other side of her face. She catches his hand, and he kisses her. Her lips answer, and for a moment he is spinning. Without the armor he can feel the press of her soft curves against him. It hurts to pull away, but the pounding of Thor’s hammer keeps him from forgetting himself.
Pulling away, he says, “We have to keep looking for a map.”
She nods, backs away, and then says, “Did Loki have a sword?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see—” Lionel starts to say.
Heading toward the foyer, Tara interrupts him. “I want a sword if I’m fighting zombies.”
“We’ll find another way!” Lionel protests.
But she only mutters some gibberish about “Michonne” under her breath.
“Tara!” Lionel says. “There could be—”
She stops abruptly in the foyer and looks up, her face bathed in an eerie red light.
“—other traps,” Lionel says.
He hastens to her and finds the magic light globe at the entrance flashing red. “Why is it doing that?” Tara asks.
“I don’t know,” Lionel responds.
“Could it be some sort of alarm system?” Tara suggests.
Lionel’s heart falls. “Knowing how many enemies Loki had … that would be very likely.” He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t let me fall over.”
She clasps his fingers and nods. For an instant, Lionel marvels. She doesn’t protest that he is about to use magic like an Asgardian, or that he might be attempting magic above his station as an elf might. Tucking the observation away, he closes his eyes and lets apparitions fly. He sees a blur upon the Lake Trail and feels familiar magic. A moment later, the blur solidifies just outside. It is who he expects, but he is oddly not riding Sleipnir, his preferred eight-legged steed. Lionel does recognize the four-legged horse though—it belongs to Gna, one of Frigga’s handmaidens, and is capable of running over water, just like Sleipnir, but not quite as fast.
Lionel opens his eyes. Outside the cottage, he hears the man say, “Whoa, Hófvarpnir.”
Tara gasps. “Is that—?”
Lionel gulps. The door bangs open, and they both jump at the man standing just outside.
“Odin,” Tara says.
The All Father tips his head to Tara. “Yes, Ms. Gibson. I’ve come to take your oath.”
The House of Odinson
Because Tara doesn’t know what to say, she curtsies. Bowing her head, hiding her eyes, she tries to think of the perfect apology, the delicate way to say, “Yeah, no, I’m not gonna be your house-goddess.” There has to be some way to say that politely without losing her head—in a frightening, very literal sense of that expression.
“Your Majesty, we did not expect you so soon,” Lionel says, buying her time.
Odin steps into the house, his voice low and rumbling. “I’ve got to leave for Muspelheim earlier than expected, but I had to see you settled. Just so you know, the queen of Alfheim has cleared you of all wrong doing. You are still a Light Elf, and welcome in her realm.”
Tara’s eyebrows rise. She doesn’t know how court games work, but she’s pretty sure that’s a big deal, and Odin had to pull some serious strings to get Lionel off the hook.
“You honor me,” Lionel says, ducking his head.
“Honor you? You’re my son!” His voice turns wistful, and his eyes get distant. “My last, my youngest, boy.”
Her stomach ties up in knots. Odin, All Father … terrible father to Lionel.
“Muspelheim,” says Lionel, voice neutral. “Why there?”
“To find Loki,” Odin responds, sounding weary. “He must be found if we are to avoid Ragnarok. We heard he was bound for Hel, and arrived to find the Fire Giants there already. Some say he’s joined the House of Sutr, and has retreated to his kingdom. If pointless death and destruction is to be avoided, he must be brought home.”
Odin sighs. “But enough of that. I came here for happier things. I have Einherjar and members of the Diar following me on mundane steeds.” His single blue eye settles on Tara. “They’ll be witness to your oath, Tara … and I have a magically preserved Apple of Idunn for you to eat.”
From a satchel at his side, he pulls out an apple. Its fragrance immediately fills the room. Its red and gold flesh sparkles in the dimming foyer, and just looking at it, Tara knows it will taste more like apple than any fruit she’s ever eaten. Her mouth waters, she licks her lips, and all clever words fail her. “I’m so sorry …” she says, unable to tear her eyes from the fruit. “I can’t accept your offer.”
“What?” says Odin.
“I can’t—”
Odin waves his hand and Tara can no longer speak. She feels like her blood has slowed, and as though each heartbeat and breath is a monumental effort. She can’t move her arms or her legs, or even her pinky finger. Odin turns to Lionel and her eyes remain fixed on the place the apple had been. It’s only her mind that is free to burn … this is so much like Rogier.
“You were supposed to woo and charm her,” Odin says. “What happened?”
“She needs more time to consider your offer,” Lionel protests.
Tara wants to shout. No, she doesn’t need more time.
Lionel continues, “Magic is new to her. This is all very disorientating.”
“She must take the oath!” Odin says. “That is required of any human allowed to stay in Asgard.”
Then let me go home! Tara wants to say.
“Does it have to be the modern version of the oath?” Lionel asks. “When your reign started, Einherjar took the same oath as a prince. They pledged allegiance to the realm, not obedience. Give Tara the chance to take that oath, and I’m sure she’d take it.”
At first Tara is furious at his words, and then she realizes that she was the one who suggested the distinction. But she can never pledge allegiance to a realm whose leader literally immobilizes his subjects.
“That was a different time,” Odin says, sounding tired. “When the realm was young and growing, I needed ideas. But we’ve hit an impasse, and are at war. The dwarves’ ongoing rebellion and now the Fire Giants.”
Floorboards creak as the king paces. “I am a general, Lionel, as well as king. A general needs obedience, not soldiers who question his every decision. Until the war is won, I cannot revive the old oath.” Odin’s voice reminds her of the rattle of the L train wheels: powerful, lonely, and worn.
Outside, there are heavy footsteps by the door. Her heart would seize up, if it could. Inside, it is silent.
“Then … let her go home,” Lionel whispers, his voice catching. She hears so much pain in his whisper. I’ll miss you, too, she wants to say. Forever.
Odin paces again. “She can’t go home. Not only would it be unprecedented, she’s heard too much.”
“Heard too much?” says Lionel, and Tara internally echoes his surprise.
Odin’s voice reverberates through the small foyer. “She overheard one of my council members discussing the Earth problem.”
Tara’s fingers itch to fidget. So that wasn’t hyperbole.
Odin continues, “Even if she hadn’t, she knows too many of our limitations. There have been too many … setbacks … with humans lately.”
Tara’s eyes want to blink. Does he mean the two other humans that had been here recently? If they left—or escaped—that must have been an embarrassment.
Odin’s voice becomes lower. “And then there is all the mischief that physicist Eisenberg and she are up to … She must stay.”
Odin is worried about the work that Tara is doing with Eisenberg? She feels … flattered and terrified.
“She’ll never take the oath,” says Lionel.
“She must take the oath,” Odin rumbles, and she can hear the curl of his lip. Tara can’t help noticing there is no “or else.”
Tara hears the heavy footfalls just outside retreating, and rapidly approaching hoofbeats.
Odin says, “Boy, what is wrong with you? You know her full name, and you have Elvish charm! Charm her!”
Tara’s throat constricts.
“Charm her?” whispers Lionel, and Tara swears she feels the air go cold.
“Yes, save the woman you love with it,” Odin says, sounding exasperated.
The hoofbeats halt close by, and men’s voices and the whinny of horses rise.
Lionel’s tone becomes servile. “If that is what I must do, All Father.”
“Yes, you must,” Odin says, and in the periphery of her vision she sees his hand wave. Her heart is beating again, fast and loud. She feels the rush of blood in her veins. She gasps for air and blinks, eyes tearing with dust.
“Lionel,” she whispers. She can’t see his features through her tears. He’s just a shadow before the door. “Don’t—”
He takes a step closer. Her vision clears and she’s gazing directly into his pale blue eyes. The same color as Odin’s. “No, Lionel, don’t,” she says, backing away.
“There is no other way, Tara,” he says, his jaw ticking.
Shaking her head, she says, “There is always another—”
“Tara Lupita Gibson!” His voice rises to almost a shout. She feels tendrils of cold seeping through the fabric of her dress, rising goosebumps everywhere. She gasps, preparing to be stripped of her will.
“Do you trust me?” Lionel asks, stepping far too close.
It takes her a moment to realize she can answer No. The realization makes her heart skip a beat. She still belongs to herself. She almost laughs with relief, but then her eyes go wide … why is she still herself? And then she remembers his words. “I never want to see the light of you leave your eyes again.” She gulps, understanding. Lionel is tricking Odin, or at least trying to. She feels the cold of Lionel’s magic all around her—he’s angry, she realizes, and probably terrified, too. Fighting to keep from shivering, she murmurs, “Yes.” She tries to clear her mind, and lets her gaze go to a point on his chin, purposely letting her vision become unfocused. “Yes, I trust you,” she says, in as monotone a voice as she can muster.
Lionel holds up his arm. “Take my arm, my lady.”
“Of course, my lord,” Tara responds, putting her arm into his and staring at a random point on the wall, hoping she looks convincingly vacant. Her fingers want to twitch, her nose suddenly decides it needs to be scratched, and she wants to glance back at the All Father.
“I wish I could do that to Frigga,” Odin grumbles.
Leading her to the door, Lionel pauses and says, “The men are waiting outside. I presume that is where the oath will take place?”
Odin, a few steps behind them, waves a hand for them to keep going. “They don’t like coming in here.”
Lionel takes another step, and Odin does, too. Lionel stops, turns, and says, “Father … there is a book in the dining room that Loki stole from your private library. Laws of Asgard from Antiquity to the Birth of Baldar. I believe you may want to collect it.”
Tara can’t help glancing up at the All Father. His single eye is wide. “You’re right.” He smiles. “My son.”
Turning on his heel, he mutters, “Typical, God of Book Thieves.”
Lionel leads her out the door, closing it behind them. Tara contains a gasp. On the Lake Trail stands a line of Einherjar. She’d guess at least fifty stand in the rapidly dimming light of late afternoon.
Lionel begins murmuring at a rapid-fire pace. “I’m sorry you thought I was going to charm you. I couldn’t think of any—”
“But you didn’t, and I’m fine. How do we get out of this?” Tara asks.
“I’m ready to go to Nornheim now,” Lionel says, his voice surer. “Do you still—?”
“Yes,” Tara says.
“Keep me from falling,” Lionel whispers, raising his chin and facing the soldiers.
“Always,” Tara replies, squeezing his arm.
The soldiers begin clapping. She feels Lionel’s weight press upon her arm, and before her eyes, perfect replicas of her and Lionel walk toward the trail.
“Now,” says Lionel. “Before Odin comes out.”
She feels him stumbling toward the side of the house, pulling her with him, but looks in his direction and sees nothing. She looks down at herself and sees the ground. They’re invisible, and all eyes are on the illusions he’s created. Helping him keep his balance, she guides him around the corner. She glances back to see their doppelgängers waving to the soldiers, just before the road. The men are cheering. Beside her, Lionel gasps, “I wish you’d found a sword.”
“It will be fine,” Tara insists, leading him to the meadow. It has to be fine; they’ve come so far.
“I can’t tell if you’re lying or just naturally unrealistically optimistic. Maybe it’s just that your species is so young—” His invisible self must trip on something, because he almost face plants in the grass, and Tara almost goes with him.
Trying to steady him even though she can’t see him, her voice gets frantic. “Let’s discuss the influence of xenobiology on culture later, Lionel.”
