by C. Gockel
Thor points Mjolnir in their direction and a bolt of lightning tears off the hammer. The dragons dodge, barely slowing their onslaught.
“They look like giant Archaeopteryx!” Amy says.
“Get down!” shouts Thor, pushing Amy’s head down and firing another blast of lightning from his hammer. One of the dragon’s wings is sheared at the tip by the blast; it teeters in the air and begins to fall. Halting their forward momentum, the dragons hover in the air and let loose ferocious screams.
The hairs on the back of Bohdi’s neck stand on end as he gets a good glimpse at their glistening teeth, that even from this distance seem to be oozing thick, shiny saliva. The creatures’ heads draw back, their jaws snap shut, Thor thunks down his visor, and on instinct Bohdi dives to the floor.
Something hits the side of the chariot, throwing it off course, and sending Bohdi rolling into Amy. She has her hands over her head, but when Bohdi collides with her, she lifts her eyes and asks, “Are you okay?” Bohdi can only stare at her open mouthed.
More lightning rips from Thor’s hammer, thunder booms with such force the chariot floor reverberates beneath Bohdi’s fingers. The dragons scream again. Bohdi catches a glimpse of something green and oozing slinking down the edge of the chariot wall behind Amy’s back.
“Look out,” he says, pushing her to the side. Her messenger bag had been behind her, and whatever the gooey stuff is lands on the bag and then begins to sizzle.
“Acid? They spit acid!” Amy squeaks, reaching up to clutch the side of the chariot where Bohdi had been standing seconds before.
Eyes still on the ooze, Bohdi reaches for the wall, for a handhold. “I…”
Thor shouts, lightning blazes from Mjolnir, thunder roars, and the dragons scream again. The chariot is hit four times in rapid succession by bolts of acid saliva. The vehicle spins wildly from the blows, and Bohdi slips backward over the edge. For a fleeting instant, he’s horizontal in the air, staring down at one of those brilliant white canopies that cover the trees. For a heartbeat, he thinks he’s flying, and then his body swings downward. Pain shoots from his fingertips, and more pain races through his wrist. It’s only then that he realizes he’s still hanging on to the lip of the chariot by his fingertips, and Amy has grabbed his wrist with one hand, her nails biting into his flesh.
Lightning flares in the air, thunder booms, and dragons wail. Gritting his teeth, Bohdi tries to pull himself up. He can do this. Even if he doesn’t usually do pull ups with the tips of his fingers, he’s still in shape. Steve’s always dragging him to the gym, and Amy’s pulling him, and…
The chariot abruptly shoots upward. The pressure on Bohdi’s fingers increases, and he loses his hold completely. His heart stops. He thinks he’s lost, but then he feels the bite of Amy’s nails again and realizes he’s dangling in her grasp. His eyes go to Amy. She’s gritting her teeth and pulling with all her might, but he can see her hand hold on the chariot wall slipping. He wants to shout to let go of him, and at the same time wants to beg her to hang on.
“I won’t let you go!” Amy screams, and Bohdi’s not sure if he said anything out loud.
Thor’s eyes slide to Bohdi. He looks down and past him, and his eyebrows go up. Bohdi follows his gaze and sees one of the dragons is at his level, coming straight for him, snapping its jaws.
The chariot drops straight down, and Bohdi is staring mercifully at only empty air.
“Thor!” Amy shouts. “I can’t pull him…”
“A little longer!” Thor shouts, letting loose a bolt of lightning that shears another dragon’s wing. The beast tumbles from the sky, and the three other dragons draw back a little further as the chariot continues to plunge. Body swinging, feet helplessly flailing in the air, Bohdi looks down. The white canopy below is rapidly getting closer. Thor gives a shout, and the chariot stops its downward descent with a jolt.
The shock dislodges Amy’s hand from the chariot wall and Bohdi’s weight drags her toward the edge. Time seems to stop. He’s staring at her wide blue eyes. Her lips part in a gasp. His heart sinks. The moment is backward and wrong, he’s supposed to be saving the girl, not getting the girl killed, and he doesn’t know why he thinks that. Is it something from his forgotten past, or something he learned in the States, or just an instinctive law of guydom?
“Let me go!” Bohdi tries to shout, but it comes out more of a whine. Her body inches farther forward, his heavier weight drawing her down, but she doesn’t heed him. He feels something like anger twisting in his chest. How can she do this? How can she make him responsible for her death? He can’t even fight for fear it will pull her over the edge.
Thor turns and leans down, his hand almost on Amy, when a bolt of oozing green comes shooting toward them. “Thor!” Bohdi screams.
Cursing, Thor hits the chariot’s equivalent of the accelerator. Amy flies toward Bohdi, and then she and Bohdi are suspended in midair. Their eyes meet briefly, and Bohdi is hit by a horrible all-encompassing sense of failure. Then dragons scream, a shadow passes over them, and they fall.
Chapter 7
A light at the bottom of Steve’s computer screen blinks, and Steve hits accept. Beatrice’s plucky countenance appears in the video feed. “Okay, Steve, I’m going to put her on.”
Steve nods, and then Gerðr’s face appears on the screen, pretty, but not excessively so. Also, she needs a haircut. Steve sighs, and smiles. “It’s working, Beatrice.”
Beatrice pokes her gray head over Gerðr’s shoulder and gives the thumbs up sign. “Now I don’t have to translate your science!” Beatrice says, and vanishes from the screen. Gerðr stares at Steve, looking slightly confused.
Steve jumps right in, “Gerðr, do you know what radiation is?” She’s in an unshielded room on the next floor up. Steve’s pretty sure she’ll be able to use magic to translate. Loki did fine in multiple languages over the phone. But the magic that makes Gerðr irresistible apparently doesn’t translate over electrical lines. Thank God.
Gerðr scowls. “Why do you want to know?”
Steve’s right hand curls into a fist. Of course he still has her lovely disposition to deal with. Leaning on his elbows, smacking his fist into his hand, he smiles tightly at the screen. “I just want to know if it’s harmful to magical beings.”
Gerðr’s nostrils flare. “Do you think you can torture me with radiation! Is this a threat?”
And suddenly he’s had enough—of her condescension, her paranoia, and suspicion. Leaning toward the screen, he shouts, “When have I ever tortured you, Gerðr? When have I ever treated you without the utmost respect?” His lip curls in a snarl, angry at her—and at himself for losing control.
Gerðr pulls back in her chair, and averts her eyes. Even on screen, Steve can see her chest is rising and falling too quickly.
She licks her lips. Gaze still not meeting his, she says, “It is true you have never…” She doesn’t finish. And Steve feels his gut clench at what is unsaid. He slumps back into his chair. She hasn’t always been treated well. Are her unfinished words referring to Freyr and Skírnir? Or to her time at Gitmo?
Her eyes flash to the screen. Her head tilts. Her voice is soft and quizzical. “But then why would you want to know this?”
Steve rubs his jaw, debating how much he should tell the giantess. He takes a deep breath and says, “Some nations on Earth are trading Earth technology with certain magical species for something.” He’s deliberately obtuse, wanting to see how she reacts.
Gerðr’s face hardens. “Yes. The elves must have exchanged something for weapons from the Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians.”
Steve lets his eyebrows go up at her knowledge of the details. He could play it cool, but he decides to allow her to see his surprise, give her a sense of control in the conversation.
Dropping her eyes, Gerðr says, “In the other prison, they asked me about that…often.” Lifting her chin she gives a tight smile. “Threaten me with all the torture you like, I won’t give you the answer beca
use I don’t know!” The last words come out a growl.
Steve’s stomach twists into a sick knot. So Skírnir and Freyr are not the only ones who have mistreated her. He’s suddenly ashamed of his own species, and he doesn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seems hollow.
He bites the inside of his lip and then says, “A few decades ago, a region between those three countries was contaminated with deadly amounts of radiation, and now it is apparently being thoroughly cleaned up, which, quite frankly, is beyond the capability of human technology.” Probably not something he should admit to Gerðr, but he’ll throw her a bone, see if she takes it. “Do magical creatures have the ability to eliminate radioactive contamination?”
Gerðr’s lips purse. “How could so much radiation be concentrated in deadly amounts?”
“We use radioactive material to make electricity,” Steve says, undoubtedly, brutally summarizing nuclear fission. “Sometimes there are accidents.”
Gerðr leans forward. “You are utilizing the power of atoms?”
“Yes,” says Steve, beginning to feel impatient. “Can magical creatures clean up radiation?”
Gerðr sits back in her seat. She licks her lips in a way that is thankfully not seductive, just nervous. “Yes, it would take some knowledge. Trolls, for instance, though magical, cannot manage it. It would take concentration, and there would be waste products from halting the motion of the atom’s splinters—but since atomic splinters are so close to magic anyway, even a very inexperienced mage could manage it.”
From behind Gerðr comes Beatrice’s disembodied voice. “What type of waste product?”
Gerðr looks away, toward Beatrice’s voice. “Well, I could choose. When I took away the atomic splinter’s motion, I would have to change the force of that momentum into something else. Maybe light, or heat, or—”
“Could you use it to make electricity?” Beatrice asks. Steve raises an eyebrow. Heat is used to make electricity, but maybe Beatrice doesn’t know that. Then again, if the “clean up” is generating electricity without first converting it to heat, it might be more efficient.
“Yes, I suppose,” says Gerðr. “But why would anyone want electricity when heat and light are so much more practical and controllable?” Beatrice coughs. Steve’s eyes widen. Amy has said that in Alfheim, magic is the only source of power. They don’t use electricity. Maybe to beings of the other realms, electricity would seem…magical? Still, Gerðr’s been here for a while. Steve taps his computer screen. “Ummm…Gerðr,” he says.
Gerðr’s mouth drops open, and her cheeks go red. “Ah, yes…human…magic.” Maybe it’s just a shock to not have her deriding the human race, but her embarrassment over something so trivial is almost charming.
Beatrice leans over Gerðr’s shoulder. “Steve, if the lights are on around Chernobyl, our satellites have to have seen it.”
Steve’s jaw twitches. “You’re right. But why isn’t our government sharing this information with us? Haven’t they figured out that Dark Elves could take care of our nuclear waste problems?”
As soon as he says that, he knows it’s not true. Steve’s not scientifically brilliant. If he knows, they have to. But they’re not acting on it.
Gerðr swallows. “King Utgard of Jotunheim, and Sutr, of the Fire Giants, both might be willing in exchange for weapons, though it would greatly anger Asgard.”
Beatrice’s blue eyes glint. “Something smells mighty fishy here…”
Steve runs a tongue over his teeth. “Agreed. Why aren’t my superiors pushing me to open up lines of communication with the Dark Elves or other magical creatures?”
Beatrice crosses her arms, and backs away from the camera.
It’s Gerðr who responds to Steve’s question. “Because at least some of your superiors are already being controlled by Odin.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “How?” he asks.
Gerðr lifts a hand to her chin. “He has many ways. Usually, by offering immortality, and access to the Bifrost.”
The prickling sensation moves down his neck and to his entire back, and Steve is suddenly very conscious that he is in an unshielded room. He glances over his shoulder. Huginn and Muninn aren’t outside his window, but Heimdall can see anywhere. Steve hopes he’s busy watching Thor.
At that moment, Steve’s phone alarm goes off. Glancing down, he sees a text from his ex-wife telling him she’ll drop off Claire in twenty minutes.
“I have to go.” He nods at Gerðr and is suddenly struck by inspiration. It would be better to talk in a magically shielded room, but then Gerðr couldn’t use magic to communicate, and Steve would need an interpreter. Except for Amy, Steve’s not sure if he trusts any of them. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he makes sure he sees no ravens or squirrels. Leaning in toward the screen, he whispers to Gerðr, “Maybe you can help us negotiate with your people?” Even if some of the Fed is controlled by Odin, Steve is pretty sure once the press finds out magical creatures can clean up nuclear waste—and convert it into power—Odin’s influence could be negated.
Gerðr lifts her head and looks at Steve, hope in her eyes. “That would mean…”
“We, or more precisely, you, need to figure out a way to go home,” says Steve, his brain spinning with possibilities and logistics.
Gerðr’s jaw drops. “I…really?”
“Yes,” says Steve. If anyone finds out he’s made the offer, he’ll lie, say it was to encourage the giantess’s cooperation. “Think about it.” He looks at Beatrice, and then back to Gerðr. “I don’t have to say that we need to keep this among ourselves?”
Beatrice nods. Gerðr swallows and says, “Of course.”
Standing up, Steve reaches for the disconnect button, but then Beatrice says, “Time to pick up your little girl?”
Steve says nothing, keeping his face blank. He’s not sure he wants Gerðr knowing about Claire.
Unfortunately, Gerðr perks in her seat, and says, “You have a daughter?”
Before Steve can say anything, Beatrice jumps in. “Claire is the spitting image of Steve.” She gives a cackle, “But attractive!”
Raising an eyebrow, Steve smiles at the jibe despite himself. “I’ve got to go,” he says, swinging his jacket on.
Right before he clicks the mouse, Gerðr says, “Be careful.”
Something in her tone makes Steve pause.
Biting her lip, Gerðr says, “Odin has many ways of exacting control.”
Steve thinks of Huginn and Munnin, nods, and clicks the mouse. The video feed goes dark.
As he’s leaving the office, he’s attacked by the usual throng of press, with the usual questions. Among them is Tara Inanna, just as attractive, wholesome, and appealing as Steve remembers. Steve keeps his face neutral as she asks him if there is any status on Bohdi and Amy. Tilting his head, he says, “Not at this time…Tara? Is that your name?” He gives her what he hopes is a charming smile, gauging her reaction to the question.
From somewhere in the crowd, a familiar reporter’s voice asks, “So how does this affect your run for mayor?”
Steve turns to the man who asked the question. “My people are missing right now, can you ask me something a little more pertinent, George?”
He glances back to Tara, but she’s gone.
x x x x
Bohdi falls backward. Amy, slightly above and a little to his left, falls in a belly-flop.
Bohdi’s whole life doesn’t flash before his eyes—maybe because he’s missing large chunks of it—but his thoughts race. Amy’s still holding his wrist. She’s not screaming or anything, she’s just looking straight at him, and he knows she can’t look away because he can’t look away. And in the milliseconds before he dies, he thinks about that, and how maybe it is a very human thing not to want to die alone. He curls his hand up and around her wrist and squeezes. She squeezes right back.
He doesn’t even blink in those last few seconds—milliseconds—before impact, because that would be abandoning his fe
llow human being.
And then his back connects with whatever it is, Amy’s wrist is yanked away, and he braces himself for pain, and blackness.
Pain he gets, along every inch of the back of his body—but not like he was expecting, more like being thrown on the dirt during training, jaw rattling and wind stealing, but not anything extreme—and there is no blackness. The impact is strange, too. Instead of coming to a stop, he finds himself slowing. A dragon dives above his prone body, and he thinks he’ll be swooped up as a snack, but it shrieks in fury, pulls up sharply, and flies away.
He has no time to think about it. Instead of going down, he is suddenly going up. Beside him Amy gives a loud, “Yeep!” Bohdi feels something yanking him down by the back and shoulders, and pressure on his chest. He watches wide eyed as Amy rises so high she actually is suspended in midair before tumbling down. Another dragon drops from the sky, and its hind claws almost connect with her shoulders, but then it rises fast, and flies away.
Bohdi’s descent stops with a snap, and he springs up, Amy rising beside him, a little further away than she was before. Bouncing… They’re bouncing! They’ve landed on the canopy thing, and they’re not dying, they’re bouncing. He almost laughs, but the force of the bounce whips the air out of him.
Bohdi’s still riding up and down in crazy waves when he hears Amy say, “Mr. Squeakers! You’re okay! I was so worried! Oh, no…Thor…”
Still attached somehow to the canopy, Bohdi’s body ricochets up in the air. Turning his head, he sees Amy hopping on her feet as carefree as if she were on a trampoline. The canopy is more netlike than fabric like, though he can’t see the ground, so there must be layers and layers of the stuff. She’s holding Mr. Squeakers in one hand, and studying a point far up in the air, behind Bohdi’s head, out of his line of vision. How come she’s on her feet?
He tries to sit up, mid-bounce, and gets nowhere. “How come I can’t move?” he says, the wild trampoline ride easing to a gentler spring.
