by C. Gockel
Table of Contents
Ragnarok I Bring the Fire Part VI
Copyright Information
The I Bring the Fire Series:
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Author’s Note & Contact Info:
All Stories By C. Gockel
Appendix
Ragnarok
I Bring the Fire Part VI
C. Gockel
Published 2015
Loki vowed Asgard would burn.
Bohdi Patel, latest incarnation of Chaos, wants nothing to do with Loki’s psychotic oath.
Stranded on the icy world of Jotunheim with Amy Lewis, his friend Steve Rogers, and an unlikely band of civilians, magical beings, and elite military, Bohdi just wants to keep himself and his friends alive … but when you’re Chaos incarnate, even the simplest goals are complicated.
If Jotunheim doesn’t kill them, Odin will, and if Odin doesn’t, the secrets they harbor might.
In the final installment of I Bring the Fire, Bohdi, Amy, Steve, and their companions learn that Chaos cannot be contained, some secrets cannot be kept, and some vows cannot be broken.
Copyright Information
Copyright © 2015 C. Gockel
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, subject “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below:
[email protected]
The I Bring the Fire Series:
The I Bring the Fire Series:
I Bring the Fire Part I
Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II
Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III
In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5
Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV
The Slip: A Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir’s Point of Smell
Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V
Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI
The Fire Bringers: An I Bring the Fire Short Story
Other Works: Murphy’s Star a short story about “first” contact
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Thank you again!
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I want to thank my beta reader, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Gretchen Almoughraby and Alex Block. Their suggestions helped me clarify situations and make the action more believable. William Sheehan consulted on military matters. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth reference. Cherryl Crouch and Erin Conroy were the final editors of grammar ... they had a tough job. All mistakes are mine.
I also want to thank all of my readers. Your continued encouragement helped give me the confidence to write this story. I love you guys!
Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t nagged me to stop writing fan fiction and start writing something I could own, this story never would have happened.
Author’s Note
This is the sixth in a series (plus one-half and a quarter!) I’ve tried to include brief descriptions at the introduction of each character to get readers up to speed. However, I’ve also included an appendix of names and places at the end of this story, for those who want more background.
Chapter 1
Amy Lewis is a woman at war … with her brain. She is riding on a make-shift sled of branches and duct tape. The sled is hitched to the back of a stealth-bomber equivalent of a snowmobile, and is racing over the ice of Lake Balstead in Jotunheim, land of the Frost Giants. The lake is filled with man-eating, claw-flippered, horned orcas that will pop out and eat anything or anyone who stops too long. Amy is stranded here with unlikely company—her grandmother Beatrice, Bohdi Patel, Steve Rogers, his daughter Claire, an elite military team, the Frost Giantess Gerðr, and Loki’s family—his ex-wife Sigyn, and their sons, Valli and Nari. Amy’s dog Fenrir and her spidermouse, Mr. Squeakers, are also with her. Odin blew up the World Gate to Chicago during what should have been a short exploratory mission. Without a way home, they’re making a break for the Iron Wood, hoping the Frost Giants there will be friendly. If the whales don’t get them, Odin will, and if Odin doesn’t get them, Jotunheim’s winter will—unless they get to the Iron Wood in time. Terror should be enough to keep her awake. Still, Amy’s fighting the urge to fall back on the gear behind her and go to sleep. If she falls asleep, she will roll off the sled. If she rolls off the sled, she will die.
But if she dies … she will be asleep.
Amy shakes her head and sits up with a start. Last time her brain hopped on that train of thought she wound up running her car off the road.
Her obviously traitorous brain whispers, “But that was all because of Loki. There’s no Loki here. It’s safe to rest your eyes for a moment.” Her eyelids start to droop, and then the nearly silent hybrid snowmobile pulling the sled hits a snowbank. Amy feels the sensation of weightlessness as she is briefly airborne, and then the sled lands hard. Her joints scream and she fights back a groan. She doesn’t remember the ride hurting when they started this journey. Why does she feel so stiff and achy now?
She takes a long breath and reaches to take off her hat. Even with the wind whipping against her back and the cold sled beneath her butt, she feels hot. She stops herself, mentally cataloging her symptoms: pain in joints, fever, and exhaustion. Carefully she reaches to touch the lymph nodes in her neck with her mittened hands and finds them tender and sore.
Awesome. She’s picked the perfect time to catch a cold.
She looks out at the other snowmobiles. Everyone seems to be sitting up and alert. Admittedly, she can’t see anyone’s face, and the only person she can identify is the Frost Giantess Gerðr. Gerðr’s magic makes her infinitely desirable to any man who looks at her. To protect the men on the team she’s wearing a magic-blocking cap and bracelets. The cap is visible just between her hood and her goggles, and it’s glinting faintly in the starlight. Gerðr has been a captive of the U.S. Government for many years. The explora
tory mission was to prepare for a larger expedition to return Gerðr to her people—and to open up weapons trading with the Frost Giants.
Amy sniffles. Of course she would get a cold. She is the weakest link in the chain. Her eyes shift to Bohdi sitting with his back to her on the tail of the sled. He’s not supposed to be here—well—even less than she’s supposed to be here. Bohdi, Claire, and Amy’s grandmother had followed them to warn Amy, Steve, and the team Steve was leading that Odin was on to their exploratory mission.
She can’t see Bohdi’s face, but she can see the tip of the rifle he has balanced on his knees. No one had offered Amy a rifle … because she can’t shoot and probably could even miss one of the giant man-eating orcas if it was charging right at her. Bohdi could probably improvise a weapon with his hat and kill one in a single strike.
She’s glad he’s sharing the sled with her. It’s good to have someone on her side besides Beatrice and Fenrir. Some of the Special Ops guys don’t exactly trust her. Amy just found out a few hours ago her code name among the military top secret types is “Pandora,” after the woman in Greek mythology who let all the evil loose in the world. She smiles ruefully to herself. They don’t know how appropriate the pseudonym is. Amy made a serum that makes humans magical. She gave some to Steve to cure his paralysis. The government stole most of the remainder and gave it to the SEAL team. What they don’t know is that she made the magical serum contagious and that it’s already spreading on Earth. Bohdi, the only person who knows, thinks she’s saved humanity.
She bites her lip. She knows he’s wrong. The serum is untested; it could wind up a plague. Her eyes slide to her dog Fenrir sitting at the front of the sled, nose lifted to the wind. Her once tiny, nearly furless mutt got the serum and now is turning into an enormous wolf, thankfully with a thick luxurious coat. It is a transformation that suits Fenrir fine—but for humans would be unpleasant. She swallows. And magic development in utero, if excessive, can lead to miscarriages. That’s how her own child died. She may have condemned countless women to the same experience she had.
After she told him all of that, Bohdi kissed her forehead and said, “Amy, the only way you are like Pandora is that you saved hope.”
The memory is terrifying. Because he said it with the same conviction someone might say, “I love you.” Or maybe that’s just what her brain wants to believe.
Bohdi is a great guy, he wouldn’t leave anyone to be eaten by spiders or adze, or to become Odin’s latest pet. But he’s also not that guy. He’s not ready for commitment. She rubs her temple. In fact, right before they’d left Chicago, he’d had a one night stand. Sometimes he flirts with her—but he flirts with everyone. The best thing for her to do is to take it with a smile and a laugh.
With his back to her, Bohdi suddenly sits up straight.
Amy is about to ask him if he’s seen something when he slumps backward. His head lands on her lap, eyes closed, rifle still in a death grip.
Amy looks out over the ice. Nothing is moving. She hears nothing. She looks down at Bohdi. Flicking up her radio headpiece so she can’t be heard by the team, she whispers, “Okay … umm … that’s very funny …” They’re not supposed to talk; they’re trying to keep their trip over the lake as silent as possible so the man-eating whales don’t pop up for a snack.
He doesn’t move. His head lolls slightly to the side. He looks like a marshmallow person in all his winter gear. The only part of him that looks human is his dark skin between his muffler and his cap. She holds her breath. Any moment he’s going to open his eyes, grin, and say, “Beautiful night for a sleigh ride!” And she’ll flush, because she’s beginning to worry even though he’s obviously playing a joke on her. She should say something witty and clever, and he’ll laugh. She glances to the pocket of his parka and sees the top of a package of cigarettes. Trying to keep her tone playful, she leans forward and whispers, “If you don’t sit up, I’m going to throw your cigarettes out on the ice.”
Bohdi doesn’t move. Amy resists the urge to scream. Instead, she rips off a mitten with her teeth and presses her hand to his forehead. He’s burning up. She feels a rising wave of panic. She squashes it, just like she would in the operating room. Flicking her headpiece radio back into place, she says slowly and clearly, “Captain Rogers, Bohdi Patel has a fever, I’d guess at least 104 degrees. He just passed out. I want to check in and make sure no one else is getting sick.”
There is a pause, and then Steve says, “Dr. Lewis, I feel fine. But agreed, we need a check in. Team report.”
One by one all of the special ops team, Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari and Valli check in. They all feel fine. Amy’s brow furrows. “Grandma? How are you feeling?”
Beatrice doesn’t answer. Amy is about to turn around and look, but then a flash of black catches her eye. Her mouth falls as she digests what she’s seeing. “Captain, Claire is slumping …” Fenrir barks, the sled careens wildly and Amy, Bohdi, and Fenrir go rolling into the snow.
x x x x
Steve barely has time for Lewis’s words to sink in before the mutt barks, and he hears muffled thuds break the eerie silence of the Jotunheim night. And then he feels Claire slumping against his back, and Lewis’s voice is crackling in his ear again, cold and calm. “We’re overboard, but alright.”
“All halt,” Steve orders, his heart racing. He barely hears them as they slide to a stop. The winter gear the team wears is as high tech as the vehicles, and even when Steve catches glimpses of them, it’s hard to tell who is who—their gear covers them from head to toe. Through his green-tinted night vision goggles, Steve just barely makes out Lieutenant Larson’s snowmobile, distinguishable because it is a two seater with a sled attached to the back that Amy’s mutt is sitting on. The doctor and Bohdi should be on the sled too. The vehicle has veered off course by nearly ninety degrees. In the passenger seat, Beatrice is bent over sideways, held on only by her seat belt. Her weight is probably what caused Larson to swerve.
Steve’s attention returns to his own passenger. “Claire?” he says. He gets no response. Unlike some of the snowmobiles, Steve’s is a one-person vehicle, but his ten-year-old daughter Claire is so slight she fit behind him with room to spare. They’d used bungee cords to strap her to him—they may have saved her life—now if he moves he will pitch his daughter into the snow.
“Claire,” he says again. Her silence fills him with a panic greater than thoughts of man-eating orcas.
“I’ve got Bohdi!” Lewis says. “I can pull him onto the sled.”
“We don’t have any more bungee cords,” says one of the guys. “Should we take some off the gear—”
“No!” says Warrant Officer Harding, one of the two female Marines on the team. “We’ve got duct tape.”
“Use it,” says Steve. A moment later, Harding is running toward them. She’s the easiest to recognize in all her gear. Harding’s the smallest, but she moves with a lot of power despite her size. Beneath them the ice groans.
Over the radio, someone’s voice cracks, “Bogies underneath us.”
Behind Steve, Harding whispers, “Sir, she’s very hot.” Her voice shakes. Steve knows it’s not because she hasn’t seen men and women in worse situations, but Claire’s a kid, and a sick kid just sucks at your heart.
“Just move as fast as you can, Marine,” Steve says, lifting his arms to give the woman room. Harding begins taping Claire to Steve. Over the radio Warrant Officer Berry’s voice crackles. “There’s a thermal vent in the ice at ten o’clock, about eighty-five meters away.”
Thermal vents are where the whales congregate and come up to breathe. Steve’s team can’t stay in one place on the ice for very long; they need an island away from the whales and a safer place to check out their teammates. He glances over at Berry. The short, stocky man is standing on the back seat of one of the double seaters, binoculars in his hand. Berry is a warrant officer with a specialty in tactics. He is part of the original SEAL team—unlike Warrant Officer Harding who is a Marine on loan. Bec
ause of his experience, Berry probably commands more respect among the men than Steve or Larson, though technically they outrank him. Berry’s voice cracks in his ear. “There is an island about two clicks away at two o’clock. We can stop there.”
Exactly what Steve needed to hear. Scanning the lake, he just barely makes out a jagged rise covered by wicked-looking black trees.
“Done, sir,” says Harding, patting his side.
“Beatrice is secure,” says Larson.
Fenrir starts to growl. The ice below Steve groans. “Get to your vehicle, Marine.” Revving his engine, Steve shouts, “They know we’re here. Everyone head to the island, combustion engines on!”
The words are barely out of his mouth when the ice between Steve and Harding explodes and a giant white-horned whale breaches the surface.
Harding leaps onto her machine, but the beast spins and lunges toward her snowmobile. Before Steve can swing his rifle around, it slides toward Harding, propelling itself with the talons attached to its flippers. She guns the engine, but the whale grabs the gear loaded on the back, swings its head, and Harding and the snowmobile go flying through the air.
Steve speeds toward Harding and her life flashes before his eyes. He’d insisted that she be on this journey because they needed at least two team members with combat training and winter survival skills who wouldn’t be affected by Gerðr’s glamour. Harding is all that and is a warrant officer with a specialty in communications, but she’s so damned small. He sees her rolling through the snow and his gut wrenches—she has to be stunned. Just as he thinks that, she springs up, covered in snow, rifle on her back. “Get on,” he shouts, sliding to a halt just beyond her. He feels the snowmobile sink behind him and Harding shouts, “Go! Go! Go!”
He hits the gas, and they jerk forward. The whale lets loose a bugle that makes every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Steve feels Harding grabbing his parka and has to lean forward to keep from slipping backward. She must be sitting on the sloped area of metal just behind the seat; it won’t be easy for her to stay on.
