I Bring the Fire Part IV: Fates: The Hunt for Loki Is On

by C. Gockel

  The wind picks up behind them and Bohdi stares at the clouds. When had they gotten so dark? “I didn’t think the forecast was calling for rain,” he says.

  Steve’s face hardens. “We’re about to get company,” he says, increasing his stride. Bohdi has to jog to keep up.

  Snapping his phone open and putting it to his ear, Steve says, “Lewis? I think I’m going to need you at HQ.” An instant later, he’s shouting in the phone at Bryant, but Bohdi is too distracted by a flash of lightning and almost immediate roll of thunder to pay attention to the conversation.

  On the sidewalk, people stop and stare at the sky. Steve walks around them so quickly Bohdi loses him for a second. When he catches up, he sees Amy down the street, just outside HQ’s revolving doors. Her grandmother is with her, pink umbrella unfurled, despite the fact there is no rain.

  Falling behind Steve again, Bohdi scampers to catch up but then stops in his tracks. A cold feeling of dread rises in his chest, and a sense of déjà vu. They are only a block away from Bohdi’s first memory—being found by Steve. The thought still brings the taste of dust to his mouth.

  A shape comes hurtling through the sky around the corner where LaSalle Street meets Jackson Boulevard, a lightning bolt streaking out in front of it, crackling down the center of LaSalle. Cars and messenger bikes dart to the sides; a flurry of horns and curses rise from the vehicles and are almost immediately drowned out by the boom of thunder.

  The dark shape plunges down to the center of the street, and cars swerve to the side. Bohdi blinks and realizes it’s a chariot, drawn by no visible means, with two men in it. One man is red haired, tall, and muscular. He wears Viking-meets-futuristic-video-game armor and a helmet that seem to melt into the scene behind him. Bohdi’s seen plenty of footage from the battle with Loki to recognize him—it’s Thor. During Loki’s attack, Thor had stood beside the police, government agents, and firemen who tried to defend the city.

  The chariot bounces to a stop on the ground in the very center of the street, and for a few heartbeats, Bohdi and the rest of the crowd stand immobilized in collective shock. It strikes Bohdi that in real life, Thor is a lot bigger and more imposing than in YouTube videos. Without pausing, Steve walks right out into the street to meet him.

  “Well met, Steve Rogers!” booms Thor, as camera flashes wink from the sidewalk and windows of cars.

  Shaking himself out of his personal bout of shock and awe, Bohdi slips out onto the street to stand behind Steve. He’s just close enough to hear his boss say, “What brings you here, Thor?”

  The space Viking nods his head. Bohdi had nearly forgotten the chariot’s other passenger, but now that man exits the chariot and walks around to stand before Steve, his head held high. The man’s hair is bright blond, nearly white, and his skin is very pale. He is wearing metal armor. A sword is sheathed at his side. In one hand, he bears a thin wooden stick like Bohdi had seen the conductor use when Steve’s mom dragged him to the symphony. The man doesn’t give the street, or the throngs of humans pressing closer, a single glance. He just looks at Steve and says nothing.

  Exiting the chariot, Thor nods in the man’s direction. “This is the mage Skírnir. We are here, Steve Rogers, to ask you for a boon.”

  As agents spill out of headquarters to contain the crowd that is forming around the two alien visitors, Skírnir raises his chin. Eyes on Steve, he says, “We wish to speak with the Frost Giantess Gerðr you hold in your custody.”

  Bohdi blinks at mention of Gerðr. “Giants” is a bit of a misnomer when used to describe the people of the planet Jotunheim. The Jotunns visited Earth in the age of the Vikings. Gerðr is only about as tall as Bohdi, but the average Viking male was only five foot six. To them, the Jotunns must have appeared to be giants, and the name “giants” stuck. Bohdi doesn’t know whether the adjective “frost” before the word “giant” is due to the average temperature of Jotunheim, or if they all share Gerðr’s frosty personality.

  Beyond Thor and Skírnir, Bohdi sees Amy making her way forward. Beatrice is at her side, umbrella closed and raised like a sword. Frowning in Steve’s direction, she nods her head in the negative.

  Steve’s eyes flick from Amy back to Thor. “Let’s discuss it in our boardroom,” he says.

  Thor nods, but Skírnir pulls his head back as though Steve has just slapped him.

  Steve gestures toward the HQ’s door and says, “After you.”

  As Skírnir and Thor walk toward the door, the crowd surges. The black-suited agents can barely keep it in control. Flashbulbs go off around Skírnir, Thor, and Steve. Bohdi hears someone that must be in the press shout, “Rogers—did you know about this visit? Is this something you planned to boost your rankings in the mayoral race?”

  “No comment,” says Steve, his face grim as Bohdi sidles up beside him.

  They’ve just cleared the doors, and Bohdi’s about to ask Steve if he did know, but Steve steps away from Bohdi, holding up a hand in Amy’s direction. “Lewis!”

  Amy and her grandmother are at Steve’s side a minute later. She meets Bohdi’s eyes very briefly, and then turns away. Bohdi finds himself staring at the back of her slightly messy, light brown ponytail.

  “What do you know?” Steve asks her.

  Amy whispers, “Skírnir’s presence may be triggering to Gerðr. Don’t make her be in this meeting.”

  The hushed tone of her voice, the set of her shoulders—Bohdi doesn’t have to ask triggering for what.

  Jaw tight, Amy says, “Skírnir forced her to marry his master Freyr by threatening to destroy her homeland and her people…and then later, as Freyr grew tired of her…” There is anger bubbling in her voice.

  Lifting his head, Bohdi looks at Skírnir walking a few meters ahead of them, armor glittering. The Frost Giantess Gerðr has remained in ADUO’s custody as a “prisoner-consultant” since her team tried to steal Cera, the World Seed, years ago.

  Bohdi doesn’t like Gerðr. No one does. She has, upon occasion, loudly declared humans to be on par with snow weevil shit. But still…he narrows his eyes at Skírnir’s back and his hands clench at his side. Glancing down, he sees Steve is having a similar reaction.

  Steve tilts his head. “I’ll look out for Gerðr. I need you in the meeting though, Lewis.”

  She nods. “Of course. By the way…the little stick he’s carrying is Gambanteinn, a magic wand.”

  “Like Harry Potter?” says Bohdi without thinking.

  Glancing back to Bohdi, Amy says to Steve, “It’s not really like a Harry Potter wand.” Her voice goes soft. “It’s not as versatile. I think it may have some powers of compulsion…but in some stories, it was also used as a sword.”

  They step into a hallway, and Beatrice falls back until she’s walking side by side with Bohdi. They’re just past a service hallway when Thor and Skírnir, escorted by Bryant, Brett, and Hernandez, slip between two armed guards into the magically sealed conference room. Steve and Amy follow them in, and Beatrice and Bohdi step forward as one to do the same—and both of them run into a hand of the guards

  “Excuse me, young man,” says Beatrice, glaring up at her guard, the tip of her umbrella just beneath his chin.

  Giving his guard a smile, Bohdi says, “I’ll just go in in case they need audio-visual help.”

  Both guards step sideways so they’re blocking the now-closed door. The one in front of Beatrice says, “Sorry, Ma’am.” The one in front of Bohdi—Smith, or Jones, or something—just glares at him and says, “No.”

  Beatrice backs up a step. “I’ll just wait for my granddaughter here, then.”

  “Could be a while, Ma’am,” says one of the guards, his voice apologetic.

  Bohdi’s eyes dart to the side. The hallway is pretty clear. “Hmmm…well, I’ll just get back to work,” says Bohdi.

  “You do that,” says the guard whose hand he’d run into earlier. The guy doesn’t even look at him. Which is good. Bohdi walks casually down the hall. The guards continue to talk to Beatrice.
Which is also good—it keeps them distracted.

  “Do you want to pull up a chair?” he hears the nice guard say to Beatrice.

  “Are you offering to get me one?” asks Beatrice.

  “Well—”

  “We can’t leave,” says the other guard.

  Bohdi checks over his shoulder. No one is looking. He sidesteps into the short service hallway and hears Beatrice’s voice echo behind him. “Well, I’m not leaving either.”

  The service hallway is only a few feet long. Besides some dust bunnies, there is a dirty window, an emergency exit that leads to a fire escape, and a non-descript door. Pulling out his wallet, Bohdi extracts a credit card and checks over his shoulder one more time. He’s still alone. With a quick movement, he slides the credit card between the door and the wall and feels the lock give. Checking one more time over his shoulder, he opens the door, steps into the room, and then shuts the door quietly behind him.

  He looks around. It’s the same room Steve and Hernandez had locked him in two years ago and it brings a bitter taste to his mouth. Of course, Steve would have him enlist into the most fucking gung-ho branch of the armed services. If Bohdi had known what a shit deal joining the Marine Corps would be and how easy this particular lock was to unlatch, he’d have taken his chances being no one in nowhere. He shakes his head. But of course, if he’d run away, he wouldn’t have Steve’s parents to retreat to on Sunday nights for dinner. And enlisting did get him his current job—it’s a job he usually loves—spending all day trying to hack into the classified files of the FBI and ADUO. When he’s successful, he’s not supposed to read the files, but of course, he does. It’s awesome.

  He looks around the room. His job may be awesome, but listening in on Thor and Skírnir’s conversation with Steve right now? He’s betting that’s even better.

  They’ve changed the space into a storage area since he was last here. Unused desks, folded up and coated with dust, lean against one wall. Fortunately, they’ve left the wall with the air-conditioning intake free. Bohdi smiles.

  Instead of being cooled and heated by a central air conditioning and heating system, ADUO’s headquarters have heavy-duty industrial heating and AC units set into the walls at regular intervals. Most of the units cool more than one room. The unit with the intake vent in this little room cools the conference room next door. The units are so loud that in the winter, the office just relies on the building’s ancient radiators.

  Quietly unfolding a foldout chair leaning beneath the window, Bohdi steps up. Through the vent, Thor’s voice booms, “We have come to your realm seeking passage to Nornheim.”

  Amy’s voice isn’t as loud; Bohdi has to press his ear to the vent to hear her reply.

  “Asgard has its own World Gate to Nornheim,” she says, her voice firm and clear even if it’s soft. “What are you hiding from us?”

  Drawing back, Bohdi scowls and takes out his knife. If he’s going to hear all of this conversation, he’s going to have to get a little closer. Flipping open the Phillips-head screwdriver hidden in the knife handle, he begins to work on the grate.

  Chapter 2

  The conference room is windowless and lined with magic-blocking Promethean Wire. The wire makes the conversation invisible to Heimdall if he’s looking this way. It also makes it impossible for magic to work in the room, making Skírnir’s wand just a stick, and Mjolnir, Thor’s hammer, just a hammer. Steve is at the head on one end of a long, oblong table. Thor is at the other. Amy is sitting stiffly on one side, half way between them. Brett and Bryant are seated next to her. So is Agent Stodgill, ADUO’s legal counsel. Hernandez and some other men are standing along the walls, eyes on Thor and his companion. Skírnir is sitting directly across from Amy, his very pale eyes trained on her.

  Amy glares right back at him. Loki’s memories of Skírnir make Amy wish that he’d do something threatening. It would be nice if one of the agents had an excuse to shoot him.

  “What are you hiding from us?” Amy says, directing the question at Thor. Skírnir hasn’t spoken since they entered the room. And she doesn’t want to speak to him.

  Feeling something wiggle in her pocket, she blinks. Eight tiny feet scamper up onto her lap. Keeping her eyes on Thor, she reaches down and gently wraps a hand around Mr. Squeakers, the eight-legged venomous spidermouse that Loki had given to her over two years ago. Squeakers doesn’t like it when people upset her. Slipping the stowaway back into her pocket, Amy glances around the room. No one seems to have noticed her tiny protector.

  Thor leans forward and meets Amy’s gaze. “The Norns have closed all known gates to their realm.”

  Tapping a finger on the table, Amy says, “Why doesn’t Odin just create a new World Gate?” Creating a World Gate isn’t as simple as opening one to walk thru, and yet she has this feeling…

  Across the table from her, Skírnir’s head does a quick jerk. “What makes you think that Odin can do that?”

  Amy’s heart beats fast. Loki’s memories don’t normally come to the surface unless she stumbles upon something relevant. Now they come forth in a deluge.

  x x x x

  Loki awakens to darkness, lying on his side. He tries to open his eyes and finds he can’t. He tries to move his arms to wipe away whatever is obstructing his vision and feels the bite of bonds at his wrists. Dull pain throbs through his shoulders, and his shins and ankles. He tries to move his legs, and succeeds in yanking his own wrists backward. A shocked yell comes unbidden to his throat, but all that comes out of his mouth is a muffled whine and the taste of linen invades his senses.

  From a few feet away, a rough male voice says, “Oh, look, he’s awake.”

  “Broken bellows,” mutters another voice. “The draught of potion should have kept him knocked out longer.” Loki hears more grunts, and the sound of steel against stone.

  Draught of potion? Above his blindfold, Loki’s brows constrict. The last thing he remembers was being in Svartálfaheimr, realm of the dwarves, on a diplomatic mission with Odin. He’d been escorted to the servants’ kitchens, and offered a draught of mead…

  His eyes scrunch tighter. “Broken bellows.” Loki’s mind whirls at the curse words. Dwarves. His eyelids flutter beneath his bonds. He should have realized that immediately from the Dwarven tongue they’re speaking, but he’d magically translated the language without a thought.

  He squirms. Something enters his nostrils. Dust maybe? And are those pebbles beneath him? Is he lying on the ground? If he is, it hasn’t rained in a long time; it’s as dry as the stones of the World Gate in midsummer. Very little light is filtering through his eyelids. Is it nighttime? He strains to hear the sounds of night animals. There is a humming, but nothing like he is used to.

  “He might be more fun awake,” says the first voice. “What is he? Sixteen or seventeen years old? He’s pretty enough to be a girl.”

  There are chuckles around Loki. His body goes still. It’s not the first time he’s heard such words, but never while in such a vulnerable position. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears grows so loud it is almost deafening.

  “Don’t get close to him, Longbeard. He’s scrawny, but closer to twenty-three and made his first kill when he was naught but a boy. Killed a foe too wicked for even Odin.”

  Loki tries to inhale deeply but barely fills his lungs. He tries to swallow, and feels drool trickling down his chin. He hadn’t been trussed up like a helpless blind worm when he’d slain the giant Cronus.

  Longbeard snorts. Loki can’t help but notice that he’s drawn closer. “This boy? Impossible. I’ve never seen a lad this pretty. The Norns said they wanted him intact, but they didn’t say we couldn’t play with him. What could be the harm?”

  “Rites of War,” someone chuckles.

  Loki’s breath comes in short shallow bursts, and he wiggles away from the sound of Longbeard’s voice. Unfortunately, it takes him closer to the sound of the other voices.

  “Look!” someone shouts. “I think he understands you.�
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  “He squirms like a worm!” says someone else.

  There are a few dark chuckles. “Longbeard will give him a worm!”

  Curling his body into as tight a ball as he can manage, Loki concentrates. He imagines a hulking troll stomping through the camp—

  Yelps rise up around him. Longbeard gives a satisfying gasp of fear. There is the sound of metal on metal, and then someone snorts. “Don’t let him stoke your battle fires, men. That is just an illusion. Real trolls don’t step into flames…or through trees…”

  “You won’t get away from me that easily,” says Longbeard.

  There are dark murmurs around camp. Loki lets the illusion fade and scowls beneath his blindfold. Hoenir and Odin had always told him he should learn to use his illusions as eyes and ears; they’d even shown him how, but he hadn’t bothered to practice. If he could see the dwarves and their fires, his illusion would have been more convincing.

  There is the sound of approaching feet.

  “Don’t go near him!” the owner of the first voice shouts. “If we fail, the Norns will never reveal the location of Andvaranaut, and our land will continue to be blighted with its curse!”

  “I don’t plan on not delivering,” says Longbeard, drawing closer.

  The sound of Loki’s heartbeat is so loud and strong now, it sounds like hoof beats.

  Something tickles his cheek. Loki writhes in his bonds, his vision going red. Heat flashes against his face and Longbeard screams.

  “Longbeard’s beard is on fire!” someone screams. “Drop and roll on it.”

  Loki would laugh, but he’s too terrified.

  Screams erupt around the camp. “Einherjar! We’re being attacked! Grab the boy! Grab the boy.”

  Loki feels himself hoisted up onto a burly shoulder. He hears a hiss and a thunk beneath him. The wind is knocked out of him as his captor falls and Loki lands on top of his fallen body. Around him, steel rings on steel, and hooves beat in every direction.

  Odin’s voice cuts through the din like thunder. “Find Loki!”