by C. Gockel
Lewis smiles, just a little, and says, “And then we’ll report to our battle stations!”
Steve steps out of their way and watches them go. They’re all but holding hands. Bohdi has a unique ability to drive people away. If he’s found something constant in Lewis, Steve shouldn’t get between them.
Steve hears the crunch of snow. Turning, he finds Sigyn is still in the room, her eyes boring into him. She’s already in full gear, a rifle strapped to her back. He’s not surprised; somehow, the woman is always put together. She meets Steve’s eyes briefly, nods, and then turns and walks out through the snow tunnel to take her turn on patrol.
Chapter 6
In the palm of the glove, Amy sits against a sculpture of a sleeping snowbear. It’s been nearly seventy-two hours and the snow shows no sign of letting up.
Sitting so close he’s almost leaning against Amy, is Bohdi. He’s always near now. Amy’s not sure what’s going on between them. Nothing really, there can’t be. They’re never alone. But “nothing” is not really true, either. She likes it, whatever it is. It keeps her warm and makes her feel more alive, even if she thinks it’s a bad idea.
“I have question,” says Harding, in halting Jotunn. Amy brings her focus back to the small, plucky, blonde woman sitting in front of her. Amy has two “battle stations”: She’s monitoring the men’s and women’s vitals for any change that might be magic related and teaching them Jotunn, the language of the Frost Giants. The language lessons were Steve’s idea. He wants everyone’s minds and bodies engaged while they stay in their burrow. Now she and her “students”—Harding, her friend Mills, Cruz, and Park—are sitting on the floor, covered by sleeping bags.
Mills hides a smile behind her hand. Harding pulls out a tiny dog-eared piece of paper. “So, Loki,” Harding glances down at the paper and says in halting Jotunn, “have a silver tongue, true?”
Park groans and says in English, “Man, I don’t want to know about this.”
Amy resists the urge to face palm. Harding had asked her the words for “silver” and “tongue,” as well as a few other odd ones. Evidently, it was a set up for this question. It’s not nice to ask someone about their dead boyfriend … or whatever. Beatrice clears her throat, loudly.
But Harding doesn’t seem to have heard. Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted in a look of such innocent expectation that Amy can’t be mad at her. But for the life of her, she can’t think of a word to say, either.
“What was the question?” says Cruz. “I didn’t understand.”
Amy blinks at Cruz. He is probably the best looking of the guys; he’s almost as tall as Steve, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that wouldn’t look out of place on Asgard. He also sometimes seems to be a little bit slow on the uptake. Amy’s eyes slide to Bohdi; he’s got a devilish smile on his face. He understood. So far, Bohdi, Beatrice, Park, and Steve are learning Jotunn fastest. Beatrice says it’s probably because she, Bohdi, and Park are already multilingual. Steve says he’s learning it fast because his polyglot friend Dale taught him how to learn languages. Amy suspects that with Steve it might be an extension of his need to know everything.
“Come on,” says Harding, wiggling a little in her sleeping bag, “you can tell us.”
Amy hears footsteps. She looks up to see Sigyn approaching. “Yes, he did,” Sigyn says, unflappable, as always. Eyeing Harding, Sigyn says, “Any other questions?”
Leaning closer to Amy, Harding whispers, “What about his sons?”
Amy’s jaw drops. “How would I know that?” Despite being put on the spot, she almost laughs. The Marine looks up at Sigyn. Sigyn sighs. “I have a feeling you’ll do your best to find out.”
Giving an easy smile, Harding shrugs. Mills’ lips quirk and the quiet brunette nods.
Park groans.
“I think I figured out what you were talking about,” says Cruz. “It was gun size, wasn’t it?”
Gun, Amy has learned in the past few days, is a euphemism for male equipment.
Mills sticks out her tongue. Harding says, “No.” Bohdi laughs.
Cruz pulls back. “Then what—”
Steve’s voice rings through the small space. “Okay, everyone, time for a break. Patel, you’re on guard duty.”
Amy stands up, grateful for the chance to avoid any more personal questions. All around her, guys start saying, “Can we have a snack?” And, “Can’t get me enough of that bear jerky!” She frowns. The guys have been eating at least eight thousand calories a day in a combination of magic and cold-induced hunger. The women have been eating slightly less—except for Claire. She’s been eating as much as the guys. Amy’s eyes go to Fenrir. Oddly, her dog’s appetite has been mostly normal for a dog that is now the size of a Great Dane. Amy tilts her head. Fenrir is sitting next to Berry as he cleans his rifle. Her dog seems fascinated by their weapons for some reason.
Motion catches her eye. One of the guys, Brill, is apparently teaching Claire a ninja-esque move. Pivoting on one leg, he leaps into the air. As he does, something shiny goes flying from his neck into the snow at Amy’s feet. Amy picks up the small, glittering piece of metal. Examining it, she whispers, “A Star of David.”
Brill’s attention snaps from Claire to Amy. “Oh, that’s mine.”
Amy holds it out to him. “You’re Jewish,” she says dumbly.
A few days ago, Amy had thought the SEALs and two Marines were almost robots. Now she feels ashamed for that. They’re individuals with their own stories and personalities. Thomas, the big, broad-shouldered guy with a gravelly voice who always has a five o’clock shadow, is a history buff who can darn a mean sock. Upright Larson is divorced. Rush cries in his sleep about his Mom. And uptight Steve has a tattoo on his upper arm with the words “Devil Dog” inked above what he says is a bulldog—the Marine Corps mascot. Steve calls it a “youthful indiscretion.” Amy and Bohdi call it a wolf; it doesn’t look like bulldog at all.
Like she knows all that, she knows that Brill is from Buffalo Grove, Illinois, and that he was studying online for a degree in philosophy because “the only thing worth studying is mathematics and philosophy.” He knew that “Bohdi” means enlightenment because of his studies. She kind of has a soft spot for Brill because he was the one who said Loki’s involvement in the retreat at Dunkirk “made sense on a philosophical level.” How had she missed that he’s Jewish?
In a high falsetto voice, one of the guys, Beckman she knows now, pipes out, “Oh, no, the Zionist Conspiracy is here!”
Everyone, including Brill, laughs. Brill slides one hand beneath Amy’s and takes the Star of David with the other. “We’re underrepresented in the military,” he says. He meets her eyes—his eyes are brown flecked with gold, his best feature she thinks—smiles and winks. And then in a loud booming voice, he adds, “but overrepresented as Medal of Honor recipients!” There are laughs and groans around the room.
Brill is still holding her hand. “Thanks,” he says. “My granny gave this to me.”
Amy gingerly pulls her hand away. She likes Brill, she likes all of them, but the attention can be a little much. Loki had a theory he called “The Law of Twelve Times.” He believed that whenever men outnumbered women, every woman appeared twelve times more beautiful than she would under ordinary circumstances. Amy sees it when the guys look at the women when their backs are turned. Still, they keep a respectful distance from her. She doesn’t know if it’s professionalism or because of Beatrice and Bohdi. Her eyes slide to where Bohdi is putting on a muffler and extra gear, preparing to go outside, but staring at where Brill is back at teaching Claire to be a ninja. Bohdi must feel Amy’s gaze, because his eyes slip to hers.
Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she looks down, embarrassed, because … she’s not sure. She bites her lip, looks up, and sees he’s already gone. She takes a step toward the door, her foot catches on something, and she nearly sprawls on the ground.
“Oh, sorry!” says Tucker, pulling his feet back. He’s got his pho
ne out, the light of its screen illuminating his face.
Regaining her balance, Amy shrugs. “No problem. What are you reading?”
Pressing a button, Tucker raises his phone. Amy reads the title silently, “A Farewell to Alms; A Brief Economic History of the World.” She blinks … Tucker is the youngest guy, and he looks it. It’s not just his cornflower blue eyes; he doesn’t have the permanent creases on his brow or the smile lines the other guys have. The weighty title looks so incongruous next to his baby face. “A little light reading?” she jokes, keeping her voice low. Tucker smiles bashfully, shrugs, and tucks his nose back into the virtual pages.
Moving on, she reaches Steve, Gerðr, Sigyn, Nari and Larson. The lieutenant is saying, “So do all hominid races of the Nine Realms look like Gerðr and you guys?”
“The Frost Giants are very fair,” says Sigyn. “The Vanir tend to be dark, like Mr. Patel, or Captain Rogers. Many Asgardians and Vanir tend to have Rogers’ and Claire’s hair texture, too. Although in the Vanir hair tends to be black, and among Asgardians, usually is gold. Dark hair and eyes are considered very exotic and attractive among Asgardians and Frost Giants.” Her lips quirk and she looks up at Steve. “You, Mr. Patel and Mr. Park, will get a lot of attention when we reach the Iron Wood.”
Across the glove, Park shouts, “Awesome!”
Steve snorts and shakes his head.
“My husband was Vanir,” says Gerðr. “But his hair wasn’t like Steve’s.” Smiling a little, she lifts a hand. Amy’s mouth falls. Gerðr’s intention is clear. She’s going to pet Steve. You don’t pet Steve. You don’t touch Steve. The handshake he’d given Amy the other day is about the only physical contact she’s received from her boss in this universe … and frankly left her a little overwhelmed; she’d felt finally accepted.
Steve catches Gerðr’s wrist in midair. Not looking at her, he says nothing, just pulls her wrist down and tilts his head, looking too pointedly in another direction.
Gerðr pulls her hand away and cradles her wrist where he touched it. Amy sees something flash across her face. Sadness maybe? But then her lips turn up, and she storms past the others back into the thumb of the glove. Amy looks around the room. Of course it was noticed. A couple of eyebrows are raised.
So quietly Amy barely hears it, Larson says, “That was disrespectful of her, Sir. She’s never learned how to behave around people.” Lifting his chin, Larson says, “Being nice and respectful would only get her into trouble with her magic.” Amy blinks. She doesn’t think of Larson as compassionate, probably because he doesn’t have much compassion for her, but that sounds right.
Steve doesn’t say a word.
“I’ll talk to her, Sir,” Larson says. Steve nods absently at the lieutenant, and Larson leaves the room.
Behind Amy, Beatrice says, “These wings are finished!”
“Try them on me!” Berry cries, not so much standing as bouncing up. Amy watches as Beatrice puts the vest on Berry’s fireplug frame. “I think I may be able to make this fit,” she says. Amy blinks. Her grandmother is distracted. She looks around the room. Bohdi has slipped out already. She looks out at the swirling snow. Some fresh air would be nice … She huffs, who is she kidding, she’d just like to be with Bohdi, alone. What they have probably isn’t anything—or maybe it’s something that will end as soon as they find themselves back in civilization. But they are friends, right? Her eyes slide to the open door. As quietly as she can, she slips out into the blizzard. What harm could it do?
x x x x
Breath misting in front of his face, Bohdi reaches the top of the incline of snow and the space atop the glove that has been affectionately labeled “the turret.” Before, they’d needed four men on guard at all times—one at each side of the glove. Since the glove has been encased in snow they just need two men on top. Rush is there, looking impatient, along with Redman, binoculars to his eyes.
Bohdi nods at Rush. “I’m here to relieve you.”
Rush grunts and swings his rifle behind his back. “Thanks, Hadji.”
Bohdi’s nostrils flare at the slur, and his grip tightens on his rifle. He feels a hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” Redman whispers. “Don’t let him get to you.”
Walking and sliding down the incline, passing the door to the glove, and disappearing into the dugout area that they’re using as a latrine, Rush shouts, “I think I’m going to hit the head and relieve myself.”
“Thanks for the update, man!” Redman shouts, voice dripping sarcasm.
“No problem!” says Rush.
Bohdi snorts. Stamping his snowshoed feet, he flips back the tops of his mittens, pulls out his binoculars, lifts them to his eyes, and sees … snow.
“Hard to believe this isn’t winter,” Redman says.
Bohdi nods. Gerðr has said that now, in the fall, it is warm, and there is a lot of snow in the Southern Wastes, but it will be ‘many times the temperature of ice’ in a few weeks. As far as they can figure, that translates into something around -95 Celsius or -140 Fahrenheit. The snowmobile engines will freeze; and they won’t be able to run if Odin decides to open a gate.
Down the incline he hears Rush say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Bohdi just barely stifles a sneeze. Who is he trying to harass now?
He hears Amy’s voice. “That’s okay.” His skin goes hot again.
A hand smacks down on his shoulder. “Easy,” says Redman.
Bohdi hears the crunch of snow and sees Amy coming up the incline. Dropping his hand from Bohdi’s shoulder, Redman smiles. “Hey, Doctor!”
Amy’s eyes flit between the two of them. “Oh, hi, John,” she says to Redman, as though slightly surprised to see him. Her eyes come to rest on Bohdi, and Bohdi really wishes Redman would find an excuse to go away. But of course Redman can’t, or won’t, because there are always supposed to be two people up here—and Amy has no military training so she doesn’t count. It’s probably a good thing, because if Bohdi was alone with her he’d get distracted and that would probably be the minute the Einherjar arrive.
Bohdi turns around, irritated at himself and the universe at large. He lifts his binoculars and begins to scan the horizon again. A few days ago, when Amy told him she’d made the serum contagious, Bohdi had a moment of transcendence. He’d felt something so big and so pure for her that he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Since then, very carnal dreams of Amy cloud that feeling of purity. Not that he hadn’t had carnal thoughts about her before—but these are so vivid. And now, when he’s around her, he finds himself ridiculously jealous. Worse, sometimes he finds himself forgetting that he isn’t the person in those vivid dreams … he has to check himself before he slips too far into the role from another life. Slipping too far would probably get him slapped, repeatedly and deservedly.
Even if he keeps his hands to himself, he can’t ask the big questions he wants to ask for fear of giving himself away—to Odin, who might be listening in, if not Amy. Questions about the weird not-carnal dreams he’s having. Why did he dream that he was a dragon and Thor was attacking him? Why had Thor had a brown, braided beard and curly hair, dark skin and dark eyes? Why did he dream about having a hyena head? Did Loki have weird dreams? Or is this just part of becoming magical and is his brain regurgitating every myth he’s ever learned?
“See anything?” Amy asks, sliding beside him.
Bohdi blinks behind the binoculars. He’s gazing to the west, where the existing World Gate to Asgard is. “No,” he says, “just snow.” He hands her the binoculars and rubs his bare fingers.
She looks to the northeast. The Canyon of Kings is there; it’s a pass through the mountains they need to take to reach the Iron Wood. The Iron Wood is closer to the equator and the ocean. It’s warmer there according to Amy and Gerðr, but will still be covered in snow. His eyes go to Amy’s fingers, turning pink where she clutches the binoculars ... If they make it to the Iron Wood. Odin will create a new World Gate in the canyon—and open the World Gate just west of them. T
hey have to go into the canyon or they’ll die, and then they’ll be trapped between Odin’s forces there and on the plain, and they might die anyway. Their plan, such as it is, is to blast their way through.
Dropping the binoculars, she says, “I can’t see anything, just white.” She shakes her head. “It’s like The Next Generation Star Trek episode where the universe collapsed on Dr. Crusher.”
Bohdi feels his lips curl up in a half smile. It’s a lot like that. Amy squints into the swirling gray and the wind whips a lock of hair in front of her eyes. Without thinking, Bohdi catches the loose strand and tucks it behind her ear. She turns to him, eyes very blue beneath her white helmet, and a wave of déjà vu hits him so strong he freezes in place, hand suspended midair. For a moment instead of snow behind her he sees white sheets, and instead of brown his skin is sapphire blue. The ground beneath him seems to shake. Amy looks away and puts her hand on the snow wall beside her, spreading her feet as though afraid she might fall over. Bohdi stumbles backward, and then realizes the world is shaking.
“Whoa, did you feel that?” Redman asks.
“An earthquake?” asks Amy.
Bohdi’s radio buzzes with Steve’s voice. “Everything alright up there? Please tell me that was a natural earthquake.”
Sigyn’s voice buzzes on the line as well. “Jotunheim has many earthquakes.”
Dazed, Bohdi fishes out his binoculars and scans the frozen land. “I don’t see anything strange, I think we’re good.” Putting the binoculars away, he glances at his hands. His fingers are brown, not blue. It was just an illusion, a memory from a dream. Disoriented, and abashed, instead of looking at Amy, he looks to Redman. The other man has a ball of snow in his hand, his legs are braced wide. There is a pile of snow at his feet that has a very deliberate shape.
Meeting Bohdi’s gaze, Redman flushes bright red. “Uhhh … I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to. You can report me, maybe you should.”
“Of course we won’t report you!” says Amy. “What are you going to sculpt?”
