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

by C. Gockel

  “So,” he says, feeling a wave of bitterness he can almost taste, “I know why you are trying to find Loki, and why Thor’s trying to find Loki, but why is Odin trying to find Loki?”

  Not meeting his eyes, Amy huffs. “You don’t know why I’m looking for Loki.”

  He’s broken the spell and made her angry already. “Sure I do,” he says, lifting his chin. “He’s your boyfriend.”

  Casting him a glare, she says, “As you pointed out, he may be a she.” Looking away she adds, “And possibly not even hominid.”

  Bohdi gives her a knowing grin. “But you hope he’s a he.”

  Her cheeks redden. Bingo. She’s here looking for a ghost. He frowns.

  Quickening her steps, she says, “What I want, what I hope, doesn’t matter. I have to find him…her…it…”

  “Why?” Bohdi needles.

  Slowing, Amy exhales. Jaw tight, she says, “He has to know the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  Amy stops, and turns to him. “Are you Hindu?”

  Bohdi shrugs. “Who knows what I was? But cow is delicious.” He grins.

  Rolling her eyes, Amy says, “In Hinduism, there is a trinity: Krishna, the preserver; Brahma, the creator; and Shiva—”

  “The Destroyer,” Bohdi supplies. He gives her a tight smile. “Hoping it would help me remember anything, I went through a phase where I investigated Indian religions.”

  Leaning closer, Amy says, “Then you know Shiva is also the transformer. Destruction isn’t necessarily evil… The Hindu tradition isn’t black and white like Christianity.”

  Bohdi’s lips quirk. He loves poking holes in blanket statements like that. Clearing his throat, he says, “To everything there is a season…A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”

  Amy blinks.

  His lips slip into a smile. “Ecclesiastes, King James Version.” He looks at the smoky sky. “I did paraphrase a bit…”

  Amy gives up a sigh and then starts walking. “Fine. The point is, the concepts of creation, preservation, and destruction are all equal, all necessary, and in balance, all good.”

  Falling into step beside her, Bohdi says, “I’m not going to argue about that, but what does this have to do with finding Loki?”

  Not looking at him, Amy says, “He needs to know that he’s not evil, that he isn’t just a destroyer…Odin won’t tell him.” She stops again and looks at Bohdi. “The next Loki has three choices.” She holds up a finger. “He can be a tool of Odin.” Raising a second finger she says, “He can be an agent of pure chaos, bringing about senseless destruction without meaning or purpose.” Holding up a third finger she says, “Or he can be a transformer—like he was for us when he transformed Cera and saved our universe.”

  Scratching the stubble on his chin, Bohdi mulls her words. And then he snorts. “He killed himself transforming Cera…” Shaking his head, he says, “Those are all shitty choices, Amy.”

  Amy exhales. “I know…but being a tool is the worst…”

  Quirking an eyebrow, Bohdi says, “I guess it would depend on what you were being used to do. I mean, technically, we’re all tools. I’m a tool for the FBI, I hack into their systems to make them more secure—” He grins wickedly. “Well, no I hack into their systems because it makes the tech guys in D.C. go ballistic, but the end result is the same.”

  Amy huffs. “Odin used Loki to destroy his problems.”

  Bohdi remembers pictures of bodies strewn about Loki’s apartment after Steve’s old boss sent in a SWAT team. “Like an assassin?” he says, his voice becoming hushed. Steve’s old boss was an ass, but the guys on the SWAT team probably thought they were doing the right thing.

  Amy shivers. “Sometimes. But sometimes it was more mental…Loki was, is…” she blinks. “…probably every time, very clever. When there were problems that Odin couldn’t solve, he’d call in Loki.”

  “Problems like?” Bohdi probes.

  Amy smiles tightly. “Like any change that was a threat to Odin’s power.”

  x x x x

  Loki peers from behind Odin’s shoulder as the Allfather sits upon his throne. He hasn’t been here since before the incident with Rind, before he went to Aegir’s feast and was implicated in the death of a servant, and before he went to the cave as punishment for two hundred years.

  Loki’s life before the cave seems like a dream. Sometimes he wonders how much of what he remembers is real, what is imagined, and what he hopes he imagined. Maybe it is time that has softened Loki’s memories of Odin and Rind. Maybe it is that Odin showed him mercy during his imprisonment, giving Sigyn a magic bowl that caught the snake venom bathing the cavern. Or maybe it is that Odin has been kind and attentive, since Loki’s punishment ended—perhaps time, and Loki’s penance in the cave allowed the Allfather to forgive Loki for Baldur’s death.

  Whatever, Loki doesn’t feel the same anger he did to the Allfather. But he doesn’t feel the same love, the same reverence he always hid with irreverence, either. He feels hollow as he stands behind the Allfather. An actor just playing his part.

  Freyja, the Vanir princess humans call the Goddess of Love, Beauty, and War, is kneeling before Odin’s throne. Long ago, she came to live among Asgardians, and long ago, Asgard accepted her as one of their own. As always, she is surrounded by her magic’s pink glow. After two hundred years with nothing to do but practice magic, Loki doesn’t have to concentrate to see auras.

  Odin, in his own aura of black, holds up a scroll given to him by Freyja. The Allfather is flanked on either side by the twelve members of the Diar, the judges that help him rule the Nine Realms. The hall is lined with his Einherjar warriors.

  Freyja is flanked by her husband, Ord, twelve of her own Einherjar warriors, and twelve Valkyries, all unarmed.

  While Loki was locked up, Freyja’s influence grew exponentially. Even Sigyn and his sons seem to be in her thrall now. Loki thinks Freyja is vain and violent, and if she were in Odin’s place, it wouldn’t be an improvement. Sigyn says that any change in Asgard is an improvement. Loki likes to counter by saying, “Really? Shall I invite His Majesty Sutr, King of the Fire Giants through the front gates?”

  To which Sigyn usually replies by throwing inanimate objects at him.

  As he stands behind the throne, Loki remembers the last time he fought with Sigyn. It ended with Loki on his knees—literally. He sighs happily.

  A member of the Diar clears his throat and raises an eyebrow in Loki’s direction.

  On the throne, Odin rolls the parchment back into a scroll. Loki had a brief glimpse at its contents. Freyja would like to see the Diar expanded to include Einherjar, Valkyrie, and Vanir members. “We will consider your suggestions—”

  “They are demands!” one of the Diar snaps. And it’s true. Freyja’s entourage is unarmed, but if Odin were to arrest them, it could trigger wide-scale riots among the populace, and incite rebellion among the Valkyries, at least half the Einherjar, and the Vanir that live in Asgard.

  “Suggestions,” Freyja corrects with a smile that is just the perfect amount of confidence without being cocky. It is a beautiful, artful bit of politics. Loki doesn’t remember Freyja being this subtle before his time in prison.

  “Precisely,” says Odin, without raising an eyebrow.

  “As you can see, these changes do not benefit me directly; they are for Asgard’s benefit,” Freyja says.

  Loki rolls his eyes. Freyja’s primary interest has always been Freyja.

  Giving a tight smile, Odin says, “Then I thank you for them.” Loki feels a shiver down his spine at the lie, but he does grudgingly admire Odin for his diplomacy.

  “When shall we convene again, Allfather?” Freyja asks with an incline of her head.

  Dipping his chin, Odin says, “Give us one week to consider your…suggestions…”

  Angry murmurs rise from the Diar, and hopeful smiles flit across the faces of Freyja’s entourage.

  The smiles remain o
n the faces of her supporters as Freyja leaves Odin’s audience. As soon as she is gone, there is a lot of shouting among the old men who make up Odin’s judges. The Diar argue her plans are just the first step—she’ll see herself elected as the leader of the council, and then who knows?

  Looking bored, Odin hears them out, and then dismisses everyone but Loki.

  x x x x

  Bohdi has to lean in to hear Amy as she recites the story. Her voice is hushed—and sometimes she stops and blushes.

  “…Instead, he invited Loki back to his library,” says Amy, her voice drifting off. Amy stops and lifts her head to look at Bohdi. “Did you hear that?”

  “No. Are we getting to the interesting part, yet?”

  Amy looks into the forest beyond the trail but then begins to walk and resume her story. “Odin knew that Freyja’s ultimate aim was to make herself elected leader of the Diar—and to see the Diar’s influence increase so that its power would rival his own. He wanted to put an end to her plans…but he couldn’t confront her directly because she was so well loved.”

  “Why?”

  Amy huffs. “I’m getting to that. So, during Loki’s time in the cave, there had been three dwarf goldsmiths who’d come to Asgard and offered Freyja a magical necklace that would make everyone fall in love with her and make her the most beautiful woman in the world—yadda yadda. But they’d only give it to her if she slept with them.”

  Bohdi perks up. “Sleep with them all at once—or one at a time?”

  Amy’s mouth falls open. “Loki didn’t know.” Dropping her head, she mutters. “But that is the first question he asked…”

  Bohdi snickers. “And are dwarves proportional or—”

  Amy’s face goes beet red. “Oh God, dwarves have a saying about that.”

  Heh. Bohdi bites his lip and grins. “Which is?”

  Smacking a hand to her face she says in a sing-song-recital voice. “Like in their stature, what dwarves lack in height they made up in girth.”

  Bohdi guffaws. Amy meets his eyes and laughs, too. There’s something so adorable about the way she’s a little embarrassed but divulged that bit of info anyway. She’s curious, like he is, just maybe a little more discreet. His laughter dwindles. What did he expect? A prude, the God of Mischief’s girlfriend? Of course not. He almost sighs aloud.

  “Anyway, Freyja said no to the dwarves…”

  Bohdi frowns. “Wait…no… Now the story is boring again!”

  Rolling her eyes, Amy says, “No, you see, Odin knew she had to have been lying, that she must have said yes—that’s why everyone was so smitten with her.”

  “How did he know?” Bohdi asks.

  “I don’t know… He just did. Anyway, he needed proof though, and he couldn’t find the necklace—not with Heimdall, or with his ravens, or from maids he bribed into spying on her, so he needed Loki to find it and prove to all of Asgard, that Freyja—” she waves a hand, and her jaw goes tight.

  Bohdi lifts an eyebrow. “So was extramarital sex such a big deal or—”

  Amy sighs. “Not so much, not for warriors anyway, even if they were women. But an Asgardian with a dwarf…yeah. Big no, no.”

  Bohdi looks to the side of the trail. In the forest, a few dozen feet away is one of the columny things; it makes his chest tighten a bit. Somewhere in the distance he hears a crash, like a tree falling.

  Trying not to think of the columns and what he saw before, Bohdi says, “Loki never had sex with dwarves?”

  “Um…” says Amy.

  “I mean he wasn’t exactly known for being…” Bohdi catches his mouth too late.

  Giving him a tight smile, Amy supplies. “Discriminating?”

  “Well…” Bohdi clears his throat. “Not all the time.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she says, “Don’t you dare bring up the story about the horse.”

  “Errrr…” Well, damn. Throwing up his hands, Bohdi says, “No! I would never do that!”

  “Did you hear something?” Amy says, turning away from him.

  “No I—”

  The sound of laughter, high pitched and light like a small child’s, rolls along the trail. It rings above the rustle of the wind in the tree leaves. The hairs on the back of Bohdi’s neck rise.

  “Where’s it coming from?” Amy says, looking into the forest.

  Eyeing the forest nervously, Bohdi’s voice drops to a whisper. “You know, so far, we’ve run into giant spiders, dragons—”

  “Archaeopteryxes,” says Amy, standing on her tiptoes and peering over Bohdi’s shoulder.

  “—and crazy mutant ninja turtles. I don’t care what it sounds like; whoever is making that noise is trouble.”

  Falling back to her heels, Amy bites her lip. The laughter rings again. She swallows and looks down. “You’re probably right.”

  Gripping the branch more firmly, he whispers, “Come on.” Leading the way, he moves carefully down the trail, trying not to think of the columns that spin their way into the sky on either side of them. Although they are set back from the trail, even at a distance, they cast tiny rainbows of light here and there in front of them. He swears the child’s voice is getting louder, though the words are garbled and indistinct.

  They pass beyond the columns, and he feels tension draining from him, the strange voice is getting fainter. He looks back at Amy.

  …and sees empty trail.

  The child’s voice rings, light and happy. And then comes another voice, not in English, but definitely adult and male. It sounds vaguely familiar.

  Bohdi darts back down the trail until he stands between the columns. To his right, he hears the man’s voice, the child’s, and then Amy’s voice. “Hello?” With a gulp, he tears into the underbrush, following the voices. He hears Amy and the child. Amy seems to be speaking another language. The child sounds like it’s laughing.

  Twigs and leaves whipping at his body, he lunges into a clearing in front of one of the columns. Amy is standing with her hand pressed against the column’s milky white surface. Bohdi doesn’t see an expansive street scene in India. Instead, he’s looking into an oval window—a tiny toddler in a green dress has her hand pressed against the window’s glass. The little girl has bright red hair, deep blue eyes, and full lips. Except for the red hair, she’s the spitting image of Amy.

  Oh, no.

  Bohdi runs forward. “No, Amy, she’s not real.”

  Amy turns her head to Bohdi. Her eyes are wide. “You can see her? I couldn’t see what you saw in the column.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Bohdi says. “We have to go.”

  Taking her arm, Bohdi tries to pull her away. The toddler starts to cry.

  Twitching her wrist out of his grasp, Amy says, “No, no, this is her magical ability, to cross universes. She must be using the magic in the column to amplify her own magic!”

  “Actually,” says a man’s voice, American and East Coast-ish, “she’s using the magic in the mirror to amplify her ability to see across universes.”

  The little girl sniffles. Bohdi’s eyes flick up to the mirror. Kneeling behind the little girl is a man.

  Reaching forward, the man flicks the mirror with a finger. Tall and thin, with rumpled ginger hair, pale skin, and gray eyes he could be anyone. But of course he’s not.

  Bohdi’s heart sinks in his chest, and the hand that he’d unconsciously put on Amy’s shoulder sinks to his side.

  Laying her hands against the column, Amy whispers, “Loki!”

  Chapter 11

  Loki tilts his head, one eyebrow rising. It’s an expression Amy associates with bemusement. “Where is your Eisa?” he says in English.

  Amy’s legs are shaking; she’s vaguely aware of Mr. Squeakers crawling up onto her shoulder. “Eisa?” Her eyes drop to the little girl with red hair and big blue eyes. A beautiful little stranger. But she isn’t a stranger…is she?

  The little girl points in Squeakers’ direction and giggles.

  Amy’s breath catches. Of course. There
aren’t just three universes. There are an infinite number. And surely, somewhere in that infinite number of possibilities, Loki didn’t come into possession of Cera… He must have realized Amy was pregnant, and taken her someplace where she could get the type of medical care she’d need to carry a magical child.

  “Eisa…” Amy whispers. “That is what we named her.” Her fingers tremble against the column’s surface.

  In the Frost Giant language, the little girl says, “Mommy.” And it’s like being punched in the gut. Amy feels light-headed. Her hand reaches to stroke the child’s cheek, but connects with only the cold, hard, surface of the column.

  Loki flicks the mirror again. “There’s no television in Jotunheim. But Eisa’s ability and this mirror have worked well.” A hint of the bemusement returns to his voice. “Go get your little girl. They’ll entertain each other for hours… We can both have some time to relax.”

  Amy’s mouth falls open. From behind her Bohdi’s voice cracks. “Her little girl is dead.”

  Loki’s eyes go wide; he draws his head back. “No…” His hands go to either side of the mirror and his face crumples. “No, no, that’s not right. There is always another Eisa at the end of the line… It can’t work any other way…I thought…”

  “Is this some sort of sick entertainment to you?” Bohdi demands.

  In the mirror, Eisa smiles and puts her hands over eyes. Opening her tiny fingers, Eisa giggles. “Peek-a-boo.”

  “Who are you?” Loki demands.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Bohdi retorts.

  Amy’s eyes rise to Loki’s. “Where are you?”

  There is no smile on Loki’s face now. “The land of King Utgard in Jotunheim. I destroyed the main gate from his realm to Asgard in exchange for sanctuary… Right now, you’re off exploring his library.” Voice hushed, he says, “In your universe?”