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

by C. Gockel

  Blinking, Loki nods, tightening his hands in the animal’s mane. Odin murmurs a word to Sleipnir, and the great animal turns back toward the warriors.

  As they stride away, lights flickering in the great column catch Loki’s eye. Whispering for Sleipnir to halt, he turns to look. The column’s surface shimmers, and Loki begins to see shapes forming, as though reflected in a milky mirror. Before his eyes, the shapes coalesce into a scene: an infant with pale, nearly translucent Jotunn skin and a shock of bright orange hair, lying in a smoldering pile of rubble. Loki’s mouth gapes. The picture is so life like…An Aesir man who looks vaguely familiar, with wide green eyes, approaches the infant and—

  “Loki!” barks Odin, so forcefully Loki jumps in the saddle. Turning, he meets the king’s gaze. In his deepest, most commanding tone, Odin says, “Do not look at the pictures in the column. You’ll drive yourself mad.”

  Loki nods, and faces forward again. Behind him, he hears Odin start to chant. He swallows. The images in the column are so bright in his mind. He tries not to look, but finds himself turning his head to see the babe and the familiar yet unfamiliar man again…

  Before his eyes have a chance to focus, Sleipnir sidesteps so quickly, Loki almost loses his seat. “Whoa, boy,” says Loki. Wondering what has the great animal spooked, he looks beyond the cavern in the direction they came from. His breath catches in his throat and his body goes cold. The swarm of adze is so close, he can see moonlight glinting on their bald heads, the talons at the ends of their long spindly fingers, and the whole of their hairless, weirdly sexless bodies.

  The Einherjar fan out at the mouth of the cavern. For the first time, Loki notices many don’t have swords, shields, or bows and arrows. They must have lost them in the battle in the tent. Some have found long sticks in the underbrush around the column and in the cavern, others are merely brandishing their knives. None of them wavers or shows any sign of fear. They simply stand watchful and waiting, gazing up into the night. It makes Loki’s urge to slip beneath Sleipnir and hide just that much more cowardly.

  The Einherjar that had identified the adze turns to Loki and pushes a tree branch half as long as Loki and nearly as thick as his forearm into his hands. “Do you think you can set them on fire?” the warrior asks, eyes flicking to the swarm.

  Loki nervously eyes the distance between the adze and the pitiful band of Einherjar. The swarm can’t be more than five hundred paces away. He’s so frightened, his legs are vice-like on Sleipnir’s sides, making the great horse paw the earth nervously. He’s never set anything on fire from so far away. He doesn’t have the courage—or even the voice—to admit that to the Einherjar. He just stares wide eyed at the approaching shadows.

  From the swarm, one of the adze gives a blood-curdling cry that makes the hair on the back of Loki’s neck stand on end. The cry is echoed by the others in the swarm, and as one, they begin to glide to the ground. Loki’s vision blurs with fear, and a little bleep comes from his mouth; simultaneously, a few dozen of the adze’s wings burst into flame. Those adze drop like stones, but the sky remains thick with their twisting, pale, hairless bodies.

  Still, the Einherjar give a cheer. And the one closest to Loki says, “Well done!” Raising his voice, he shouts to the others. “They cannot hover! They are weak flyers, and they will land and then attack. Their strength is in numbers only!”

  Looking up at the hundreds of swirling, shrieking, shapes, Loki isn’t comforted by that information.

  While most of the swarm coast overhead just outside the cavern, a dozen adze hurtle to the ground. Raising their weapons, the Einherjar easily evade the clumsy bombardment. The warriors lash out with their knives and makeshift staves, but the creatures keep coming.

  Loki raises the branch in his hands as an adze lands to Sleipnir’s right. With a cry, Loki aims the butt end of the branch at the creature’s face. There is the sharp crunch of bone and the sickening squish of pulverizing flesh. The adze drops quickly, but another falls from the sky to take its place, one of its brothers landing to Loki’s right, and then another and another all around.

  Some instinct in Loki’s mind kicks in. He doesn’t think; he just acts. Snarling, guiding Sleipnir with his legs, he urges the mighty animal to pivot on his hind legs. The turning, rearing animal bowls over the adze that wind up in the path of its withers, and strikes at them with its four forward hooves. The ones the horse doesn’t hit, Loki dispatches the same way he did the first, his staff sliding left and right, a shout of rage rising from his lips.

  Loki’s blows land every time, and a dim part of his mind wonders at how easy it is. Whatever sliver of triumph he feels evaporates as he looks up. The adze keep coming, and even though they fight without finesse—and aren’t agile enough for true aerial assaults—there are too many of them.

  Before Loki’s eyes, one of the swarm manages to drop from the sky directly upon the back of the dark-skinned Einherjar who had praised Loki moments ago. Loki brings his staff over the creature’s head even as it sinks its teeth into the Einherjar’s neck. The staff hits home, the adze falls—but although the warrior’s wound is minor, the man wobbles on his feet, and then crumples—his body disappearing as adze pile upon him and each other with frenzied shrieks.

  Loki doesn’t have time to be horrified. More of the swarm is landing, slipping between the warriors, behind and in front of them. Loki pummels with his staff in every direction at the same time he tries to guide Sleipnir like a battering ram into the fray.

  “To me!” shouts Odin above the sound of the shrieking swarm.

  Loki turns to see Odin, silhouetted by a circle of light just large enough for Sleipnir to slip through. The Allfather is swinging his sword, but his movements are wild and there is no energy behind his strikes. He looks like he has been fighting for hours, not just minutes. Two Einherjar are beside him, guarding his flanks, but they fall even as Loki watches.

  Loki sends Sleipnir barreling in the direction of his guardian. A few of the swarm land between Loki and the Allfather, and Loki roars in fear, hatred, and desperation, his skin heating so much, he thinks his blood is boiling, his vision turning to a tunnel of red, the sound of the swarm’s shrieking being joined by a sound like a thousand twigs cracking.

  The adze in front of him drop out of view, and Sleipnir hops over their bodies. Dismounting, even before the horse has stilled, Loki is at Odin’s side a minute later. For the first time, he realizes that what he took for a tunnel of red is a tunnel of flame, the sound of twigs cracking the sound of adze’s wings on fire.

  Odin falls into Loki. It is all that Loki can do to keep the heavier man upright. Beyond Odin, the circle of light is dimming. “Quick, we must get through the gate,” the Allfather mutters. Pulling Odin to Sleipnir’s side and helping him into the saddle, Loki looks back the way he had come. Only one Einherjar is still standing. The warrior breaks through the dwindling flames toward Loki and Odin but is set upon by dozens of screaming adze. An instant later, he vanishes into a pile of writhing bodies. More adze fall on the smoldering remains of their own kindred and the fallen warriors. Loki’s jaw drops.

  “Loki!” Odin says. “We must leave.”

  Odin’s voice shakes Loki from his stupor. Fear and adrenaline give him enough strength to leap onto Sleipnir’s back. Bracing the Allfather’s dangerously listing body, he gives Sleipnir a quick kick. The horse darts forward. Even though the circle of light has gone out, Sleipnir has the ability to open World Gates and walk between realms, just as the beast’s mother had, just as Odin and Hoenir can do…and as Odin says Loki will one day be able to do, too.

  There’s a flash of rainbow colored lights. For an instant, Loki can’t see Sleipnir’s ears, then his neck, and then the shrieking of the adze is gone, replaced by the clatter of Sleipnir’s hooves on stone. Instead of darkness, there is sunshine pouring through a window. Instead of a sky filled with the darting bodies of adze, there is a ceiling. Loki looks up to see an ornate mosaic, a depiction of the Greek myth of Le
da and the swan.

  “Father,” calls a small voice, as the last of Sleipnir’s hooves clacks into the room. Loki brings his gaze down. Odin has opened the gate directly to his own chambers. To one side, there is an enormous bed with heavy draperies. To the other side is a fireplace, above which is a painting in the realistic perspective that is the new-elfish style; it features Odin, Frigga, and a golden-haired, straight-limbed, clear-eyed, pink-cheeked Prince Baldur.

  Leaping from a plush chair by the fireplace is Baldur himself. To nearly everyone, the painting is the spitting image of the prince—but Loki sees something very different. Loki sees a fourteen-year-old who is chubby, his hair a dingy brown, his eyes a muddy hazel. And his face is peppered with acne. Loki supposes if no one can see your imperfections, it’s very difficult to fix them.

  In front of Loki, Odin lists dangerously. Loki manages to keep him on Sleipnir’s back, but it’s a close call. “Guards!” shouts Baldur.

  Loki hears several sets of footsteps behind Sleipnir and another voice, this one feminine. “Odin!”

  Loki turns to see Queen Frigga striding into the room with Odin’s two most trusted servants. They run to Odin’s side and Loki eases the Allfather into their arms.

  “You see, Mother,” says Baldur. “I knew if he was forced to make a gate, he’d open it here. He’d never let the court see him so weak.” At those words, Baldur narrows his eyes at Loki.

  “The prince is always wise,” says one of the servants, carrying Odin to his bed with his comrade. Normally Loki would roll his eyes at the sycophantic words, but he can’t bring himself to care. As he dismounts Sleipnir, he notices his hands are shaking.

  Baldur trails after the servants. Frigga and then Loki follow, Sleipnir tagging behind Loki like a dog.

  Odin’s eyes flutter a bit as they prop his head on a pillow.

  “Get him some water and food!” Baldur commands the servants. The men bow and leave the room. Baldur sits on the edge of the bed beside his father and takes one of Odin’s limp hands. Climbing onto the bed, Frigga sits next to her husband on the other side. Laying a palm upon his forehead, she murmurs, “He is warm, he was not scratched or bitten.”

  Loki swallows. Feeling relieved, but anxious to see Odin recover completely, Loki stands a few feet away, head bowed. He wants to sit on the bed, too, but that would be overstepping his station.

  Baldur’s eyes go to Sleipnir, then to Loki. “Wonderful, the whole family is here.”

  Behind Loki, Sleipnir lets out an angry sounding snort—perhaps picking up on Baldur’s tone? Loki blinks. It’s the only time that Baldur has ever called Loki one of the family.

  Baldur drops his head to his father’s hands. “Wake up, Father,” the prince says. Voice cracking a little, he whispers, “I hate seeing you like this.”

  Loki bows his head again…and the images of the falling adze flash before his eyes. Maybe Odin was bitten or scratched, maybe he is more than just magically exhausted…

  Taking a step forward, Loki says, “Are you sure he will be all right…”

  Voice not unkind, Frigga says, “He is just magically exhausted from creating a New World gate. He cannot do it with the ease of Hoenir.”

  Raising his head like a viper, Baldur hisses. “You weren’t worth the risk.”

  Taking a step back, Loki bumps into Sleipnir and the horse gives a whicker, then drops his head over Loki’s shoulder and stamps all eight of his feet.

  On the bed, Odin’s one eye opens. “No, Baldur.”

  Baldur and Frigga turn their eyes to Odin. “It was terribly risky,” Frigga says.

  Patting her hand, Odin says, “Yes, but as soon as I found Loki, we both knew the odds would rearrange.”

  Frigga sighs. Loki sees only the back of Baldur’s head and can’t see his expression.

  Odin’s gaze finds Loki’s. “You fought well.”

  Loki remembers all the Einherjar they’d lost. The praise feels hollow, but he nods.

  Odin smiles gently. “Now would you mind taking Sleipnir out of my bedroom?”

  Loki flushes and stammers, “Yes, of course.”

  As Loki turns to grab Sleipnir’s magic bridle, he sees Baldur frowning at him. He’s just entered the hallway when he hears the prince say, “The court will say that he’s your toy, that you’re buggering him—”

  Loki draws to a halt.

  “Baldur!” says Frigga.

  “Any man that says that will have his tongue cut out,” says Odin. “I am Loki’s guardian, and I treat him as a guardian should—such rumors would dishonor me as much as him.” Standing a bit taller, Loki smiles. Whistling loud enough for the royal family to hear, he leads Sleipnir down the hall.

  x x x x

  Eyes still closed, Amy brings a hand to her forehead. To see Loki so young…so distraught by violence and bloodshed, and so different than the Loki she knew… It makes her hurt, and miss him…even though that was a Loki she never knew. But she had seen that Loki, in bits and pieces, hadn’t she?

  She lifts her chin and exhales. It doesn’t matter. That Loki is gone. All that matters is finding the new Loki and letting him—or her, or it—know what he is. She presses a hand to her temple. As interesting as the family dynamics in the memory were—Odin’s protectiveness, Baldur’s jealousy, and Loki’s obliviousness—there isn’t anything that will help her find the Norns.

  Still, when Steve is done with Beatrice’s paperwork blizzard, she’ll talk to him. They have to try and find Loki.

  She shakes her head. But will Steve agree?

  She opens her eyes and turns her attention to the task in front of her. Work is always a good distraction from unpleasant thoughts. Straightening her shoulders, she pulls the sheet off the troll’s body, and her heart quickens.

  Normally, she’d rather put critters back together, but being able to dissect a troll—a real-life alien—is pretty darn amazing. Laid out on the operating table, the chest of the beast is a foot above her head. If the troll were standing, it would be as tall as an elephant, and perhaps broader side to side. It has some greenish hair on its head and greenish skin marked by regions of swelling that look a lot like boils.

  She blinks, and another Loki memory comes to her. Loki, was a little boy, sitting on a workbench beside a rough-hewn table. He was playing a hand-slap game with a hand that was protruding from a box…much like the hand from The Addams Family. Only this hand was giant, green, and covered with boils.

  Next to the box was Mimir’s head, propped up against a crate. Long ago, Mimir had been decapitated by the Vanir for talking too much. His body had been lost, but his head had been magically preserved and animated so that all of his wisdom would not be lost.

  “Trolls’ native habitat is the surface of Svartálfaheimr, land of the dwarves,” Mimir said, in his most officious, school master voice. “Svartálfaheimr’s molten core is hardening, its magnetic field weakening, and its surface is buffeted by cosmic rays. The dwarves moved underground long ago. The trolls stayed above ground, their hides becoming tougher and tougher to resist radiation. But water is scarce on Svartálfaheimr’s surface, and most other species have gone extinct. Trolls derive some of their nutritional needs from the symbiotic bacteria that make their skin green, but it isn’t enough. Whenever a troll discovers a World Gate, it will open it and cross through in order to find food. That is why they now inhabit all the known worlds.”

  “Except for Earth, right?” said Loki. He couldn’t have been more than eight; the troll’s hand was easily as large as his head.

  “Well, Hoenir is working with Odin to get all the trolls off Earth…” Mimir said.

  Beside Loki, there was a cough, and he turned to see Hoenir approaching. An apron was pulled over Hoenir’s paunch, and what was left of his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The older man held a nearly barrel-sized jar of a purplish liquid with hand-sized bobbing eyeballs.

  On the table, Mimir said, “Loki, would you please stop playing with the troll hand? Hoenir needs it to open
the velociraptor treats.”

  Hoenir cleared his throat, and Mimir added too quickly, “Did I say velociraptors? Having velociraptors about would be against Odin’s orders…”

  “Then who are the treats for?” said Loki.

  Mimir’s eyes slid toward a doorway at the far end of the room. “Loki, did you know the spidermice that moved into Hoenir’s dresser just had kits? Wouldn’t you like to see them?”

  “Yes!” Loki shouted, standing up and dashing from the workroom.

  The memory ends and Amy is staring at her troll again. Scrunching her eyes shut, she tries to recover any memories involving troll anterior cruciate ligaments.

  Nothing comes.

  Opening her eyes, she sighs. But not unhappily. Really, even if she could find those memories, she’d still want to see the ligament for herself. Putting on a pair of goggles and reaching for a scalpel, she approaches the cadaver’s left kneecap.

  Forgetting the day’s trauma turns out to be easier than Amy expected… partially because dissecting the troll is much more difficult than she expected. The troll’s skin is so tough that after her fourth scalpel blade is dulled to the sharpness of a butter knife, she gives in and takes out an electric bone saw.

  She’s finally through the outer layer of dermis, turning off the saw, and picking up a new scalpel when there is a knock at the door.

  x x x x

  Shifting the plastic bags from 7-11 to one hand, Bohdi checks the time on his phone. Scowling, he knocks on the door to the morgue again. The duffel bag on his shoulder nearly slides off with the movement.

  Bohdi checks his pocket one more time for his lighter and his knife. He’s not authorized to carry a gun, and hadn't had time to surreptitiously borrow one from an agent. Patting his stomach, he looks down. But at least he is wearing his lucky pink shirt that ticks Steve off; he’s set.

  Adjusting the bag and his shoulders, he waits for the door to open.