Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI (Loki Vowed Asgard Would Burn)

by C. Gockel

  Looking down at the pile on the ground, Redman stomps his feet. “A tree turning into a woman.” Blinking up at Amy, he says, “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

  “It sounds pretty,” Amy says.

  Redman winces. “I think it might be sexual frustration combined with being sick of snow.”

  “Go ahead and sculpt it,” Amy shrugs. “You won’t be able to focus on anything until you do. And I’d like to see it.”

  Redman drops down and begins to sculpt again. Turning away, Bohdi reaches down into his pocket and fishes out his cigarettes. Bohdi almost wishes Odin would attack so they could get it over with. But he shouldn’t wish that; it’s going to be a nightmare. He may be the next incarnation of Loki, but all he has are uncomfortable memories, not the power Loki had. Bohdi can’t create fire or illusions. Turning his back to the wind, he finds himself staring at Redman again. The other man is molding a larger and larger pile of snow. Amy’s helping, adding snow to the top as Redman shapes the base. It’s clearly the form of a tree trunk.

  Watching Redman work, Bohdi flicks his lighter. The sky lightens to the west.

  Amy straightens and looks to the sky. “Oh, no.” At her words the falling snow seems to slow. Bohdi looks up. Is the storm truly breaking?

  The sound of Redman furiously packing snow makes his eyes snap back to the ground. Head bent, Redman keeps working, his hands moving faster, as though he’s desperate to finish before the storm ends.

  A beam of light cuts through the clouds and makes the snowflakes glitter like diamonds.

  “The storm is ending,” Amy whispers.

  But Bohdi can’t look at her, he’s staring at Redman’s sculpture. The base is twisting out like the roots of a tree, amazingly realistic, and sparkling in the new light like magic. Bohdi’s jaw drops. “Steve, the storm is ending.” He hears Steve’s loud intake of breath, and then the command, “Get ready to move out, everyone!” rings over the shared frequency.

  Bohdi finds himself smiling at Redman’s sculpture. “No, wait, Steve, we need to talk in the Promethean wire room—I have a plan.”

  Chapter 7

  Bohdi sucks in a breath. It’s hard to breathe on takeoff—the pressure from the constrictive Harpy vest and g-forces combine to crush his lungs. His muffler has sagged, and the cold air between it and his goggles bites so sharply against his exposed skin it makes tears come to his eyes. Sparse snowflakes dance before him in the sunlight. As they climb higher, the pressure on his chest and abdomen increases, but his legs and arms are free. He feels like a puppet lifted by strings. At least he isn’t as cold this time—he’s wearing a parka over the vest that secures the Harpy wings to his body. Amy slit holes in the coat for him, and then patched up the open areas with duct tape.

  “Damn it.” Berry’s voice crackles over the radio. “My girdle got tighter on take-off.”

  “I think it’s so you don’t slip out,” says Redman.

  “Are you saying I’m fat?” says Berry, raising his voice half an octave.

  Redman’s voice cracks in the radio. “Baby, you know I like big girls.”

  “Awwww…you’re just saying that,” says Berry.

  The banter pulls Bohdi back into the moment. He finds himself grinning. He likes these guys, joking when they’re heading into what will be a fight to the death. The sunlight breaks in earnest through the clouds, a bright beam of light from the west reflects off the snow below, and for a moment Bohdi is blinded.

  Berry’s voice crackles on the radio, hushed and reverent. “The statues marking the canyon ...”

  Bohdi holds a hand to the glare and looks ahead. For the first time he sees the source of their shelter for the past few days. Two mountain-sized statues of somber men in armor stand on either side of a canyon, a river frozen between them. One of the statues is missing a hand.

  “Holy Tolkien, Batman!” says Redman.

  “Batmen?” says Gerðr, sounding alarmed. In the corner of his eye Bohdi sees Sigyn raising Valli’s sword. She has it on loan.

  “Just joking!” say Redman, Bohdi, and Berry at the same time.

  Bohdi hears Sigyn sigh, and Gerðr says, “Not a funny joke.” They swoop into the canyon and into the chill of the mountain shadows. Bohdi hears only the wind and the chattering of his own teeth. The path beneath them is easy … which means the snowmobiles will be able to travel faster … but also leaves little in way of cover and won’t work for Bohdi’s plan.

  “Patel, you and Sigyn tell us what you see on the plain,” Berry says. “Redman and I’ll keep our eyes peeled below—Gerðr, do what you have to do.”

  Gerðr takes off her helmet and bracelets, and for a moment she is a hovering angel. Bohdi almost commands his wings to fly toward her, but then she vanishes.

  “Damn,” Redman mutters, and Bohdi doesn’t have to ask to know he was referring to Gerðr.

  “Wings up, slow loop!” says Sigyn. Remembering where he is, Bohdi repeats her words and veers up in a gentle arc until he is horizontal with the statues’ peaks. The mountains north of them are higher than the statues and look jagged and ruthless.

  Sigyn begins to fly in a tight circle. Following her commands, and trying to keep his mind off the conflict ahead, Bohdi says, “This has got to be way easier than being a bird.” Or even flying an airplane—the wings know what to do.

  Sigyn puts a pair of binoculars to her eyes. “Birds don’t run out of fuel quite so suddenly, and your airplanes have more reliable gauges. I think one of the reasons there is a taboo against men wearing wings is that men tend to be heavier and exhaust their magic faster.”

  “Oh,” says Bohdi. “Exactly how suddenly am I going to run out of gas?”

  “Your flight path will become erratic, and then you’ll have a few minutes to land.”

  “Ahhh…” says Bohdi, taking out his own binoculars.

  “Of course,” Sigyn says, swooping in another pass, “these wings are second or third hand. Harpies only get the wings that Valkyries cast out. They probably aren’t as reliable as Valkyrie wings.”

  “Did I know that before I suggested doing this?” Bohdi says, gulping at the several hundred foot drop below. Shaking off his fear, he lifts his binoculars and peers back out onto the plain from which they came. He sees the snow of the lake tinted orange with sunlight, the shadows of snow drifts a vivid shade of blue. Far off in the distance, he sees what looks like a river of sunlight stream across the snow—Asgardian armor. Most of the magical armor isn’t invisible per se, it tends to reflect the world around it—and from above, that means the sun. His jaw gets tense, and he feels the cold more acutely. “Odin’s warriors are on the plain,” he says.

  Berry’s voice cracks over the radio. “What about our guys?”

  Bohdi scans the snow between the canyon and the warriors. He sees a dark splotch cruising quickly across the plain. He focuses—it’s Fenrir sitting on a makeshift sled, her tongue out, and her tail wagging. The team’s gear may not be magical, but their camouflage makes them nearly invisible—he can just barely make out the flotilla of snowmobiles around the giant dog. He feels his shoulders loosen. “Very close to the canyon entrance,” Bohdi says.

  Berry’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Have you found where Odin opened the new World Gate, Gerðr?”

  “No,” says Gerðr. Unimpeded by Promethean wire bracelets and hat, she speaks in perfect English, but the line is filled with static. “Odin just opened … World Gate … days ago in Chicago … and he’s fighting a war … He will open a World Gate someplace where the fabric of space and time is already weak in order to conserve energy.”

  Berry’s voice crackles on the line. “What does that mean?”

  There is a burst of static on the line, but Gerðr doesn’t respond. Perhaps she’s moved out of range. Sigyn answers. “Hopefully, that he will not choose a place as strategically advantageous as he might otherwise.”

  Berry says, “I think I’ve found a good place for a picnic.”

  Bohdi looks down a
nd sees the two men at what looks like frozen rapids. There is a small frozen waterfall with rocks at the base and above it. On the side, the walls of the canyon jut up steeply and are covered in snow. In some places the snow dangerously overhangs the frozen river. Above the initial steep snow pack, rocky mountainous crags jut upward, mostly free of snow.

  “Hard for snowmobiles to get through these frozen rapids,” says Berry. “We might have to hop out and push.”

  “Yes,” says Bohdi, peering through his binoculars. “I agree.”

  “It will be dark in an hour or so,” says Redman. “We’re definitely going to get stuck.”

  It’s all code. The frozen rapids would be tricky but not impossible to navigate. However, in the event Heimdall is listening, they want to throw him off.

  “Well, we better tell our team to hurry,” says Berry. “Gerðr, found anything?”

  Bohdi’s radio crackles with static.

  “Damn it,” says Berry. “Easy to get out of range in these hills.”

  “Still more effective than having to rely on messages sent by raven,” Sigyn says, voice hard. “When Odin gets his hands on human satellite technology I fear communication between his spies and his warriors …” She doesn’t finish the thought.

  “Should I start building a ramp for the snowmobiles?” asks Redman.

  “Go ahead,” says Berry.

  Staying aloft, Bohdi glances toward the sun. It looks like they have an hour or so of daylight left. He hears the buzz of static in his ear and then Steve’s voice. “We see you. Looks like you’ve found the perfect place for us to get stuck in the snow, Berry.”

  Larson’s voice crackles on the radio. “I agree.” And then the lieutenant asks, “Where is Gerðr?”

  “She went to find where Odin is most likely to open the new World Gate,” says Berry.

  “How long has she been gone?” says Larson.

  Bohdi scans the canyon in the direction the Frost Giantess flew. He sees a shimmer in the air, and then Gerðr bursts into view. His earpiece buzzes again, this time with the Frost Giantess’ breathless voice. “I found them. Not too close. Maybe three of your miles. Sixty men. Twelve Valkyries. Don’t think they saw me.” She flies closer to Bohdi, and he starts to feel dizzy and warm, and his mouth waters. He has a vision of the two of them ... with their wings, they could escape into the wild and ...

  Gerðr slips on her magic-blocking bracelets and puts on her cap. The warmth fades and Bohdi blinks as she circles down to the ground. He feels disgusted with himself.

  Steve’s voice sounds over the radio. “They’re far enough away. We should have enough time. We got lucky.”

  Over the shared radio someone snorts.

  x x x x

  In the canyon’s frozen rapids, Amy hops in place and claps her hands to warm her numb fingers and toes. Poking out from between rocks she sees the faces of the team—or illusions of their faces. They’re all snow sculptures provided by Redman. There is even a likeness of her, bending over a wounded Tucker.

  Most of the real team members are above them—either flying in the sky or scaling the cliff faces. The ones on the cliff faces are literally invisible, with the aid of Gerðr, Sigyn and Nari. They are working on their last hopeish plan. The few guys on the ground are peering through their rifle sights either toward the ice plain where an army of “irregulars” wait, or looking deeper into the canyon, now filled with Einherjar. Fenrir is loping back and forth between the canyon walls, wearing a Kevlar vest Amy put on her. A few times Fenrir’s started growling in one direction or another, and Valli has shot a blast of snow with Kusanagi revealing a spy or two. The spies had quickly retreated—they hadn’t gotten close enough to realize the sculptures weren’t real people. At least, that is the hope.

  Fenrir stops by a rock, and lifts her nose to the wind. In the Einherjar camp a dog barks; a few more join in from the camp of irregulars. The fur on Fenrir’s back rises, but she doesn’t growl.

  Amy looks up at the dark blue evening sky. Bohdi is circling up there in the deepening dark, as are Berry, Beatrice, and Park. From not far away, she hears Claire say, “I could fly up there.”

  Amy turns to see Claire standing next to Steve. Her father is leaning against a frozen waterfall that isn’t quite as tall as him, gazing into the canyon. “No, Claire,” Steve says. “Stay down.”

  “But I could,” says Claire.

  “Dr. Lewis!” says Steve.

  Amy jogs over, snowshoes kicking up powder.

  “Claire, go help Dr. Lewis,” Steve says, without looking up at Amy.

  “But I want to be useful,” says Claire.

  Amy sighs. From the mouths of babes. “Come on, Claire,” Amy says, trying to sound encouraging and authoritative. “We can get some binoculars and watch for spies.”

  Claire looks up at her. “I want a rifle, too.”

  “Ummm …” says Amy.

  “No,” says Steve.

  Amy hears the crunch of snow, turns, and finds Redman approaching. “All done, Sir,” he says to Steve.

  Putting down the binoculars, Steve surveys Redman’s work. “Well, done,” Steve says, sounding slightly awed. He taps his earpiece. “Berry, status?”

  Berry’s voice comes over the shared frequency. “Looks like both camps are settling in for the night.”

  Bohdi’s voice buzzes over the radio. “This will work better in darkness. The sooner they attack the better.”

  Amy wraps her arms around herself; the cold is creeping inside her gear. Her eyes slide to the statues making long shadows in the lantern light. They do look more realistic in the dark.

  “Agreed,” says Steve.

  Park’s voice buzzes over the shared frequency. “Hang on … What have we here?”

  Beatrice’s voice crackles. “Some guys with torches … and one with what looks like an old-fashioned flag are approaching. They look unarmed.”

  Amy and Claire both go to the icy embankment of the waterfall and peer over. Rush slides beside them, closer to Amy than he needs to be. Amy pretends not to notice, but then as he checks his rifle—or whatever—his hand brushes her butt. Lightly, like it could have been an accident, but she doubts it. It’s not the first time. And, of course, now isn’t the time to draw attention to it. Rolling her eyes, she scoots Claire and herself closer to Steve and Redman. Redman is peering out over the edge through his rifle sights. The first thing Amy sees is torches, six of them seemingly floating in midair. But then she catches the reflections of the fire flickering on armor. In between the torches is a seventh man carrying what looks like a U.S. flag from colonial times. It has a field of blue in the corner with a circle of stars, and the familiar red and white stripes fill the rest of the fabric. None of the men are armed, but she sort of wishes they were.

  “Are they on our side?” Claire whispers.

  Amy’s heart sinks. She has a feeling they’ll say they are on the same side, and maybe the Einherjar believe it. Maybe some of the SEALs will believe it, too.

  Bohdi’s voice cracks in Amy’s ear. “This is a trick.”

  Larson’s voice hums over the shared channel. “We’re not quite done. We need more time.”

  Over the radio, Amy hears Steve’s slow intake of breath. The Einherjar get as close as one hundred feet when Steve shouts, “That’s close enough.”

  Odin’s warriors could keep going, but they stop and lift their visors, exposing themselves to potential gunfire. Amy tenses. Beside her, Redman spits, but none of the SEALs shoot.

  One of the Einherjar looks like he is of African descent, another looks like he might be American Indian, another perhaps Japanese, and the rest look Caucasian. The man holding the flag steps forward. In English that sounds slightly British, he says, “We are Einherjar. We have sworn an oath of allegiance to Odin, the Allfather, protector of the Nine Realms. But we are also human, and Americans. I nearly died fighting alongside General Washington, my fellows fought in the Civil War on both sides, and we fought in the Great Wars in Europe, t
oo. We don’t want to fight you, my brothers and sisters. We want you to join us!”

  Whispers rise in the trenches and from behind the barricades of rock and ice. Amy feels like she might throw up.

  Thumping his fist over his heart, the Einherjar says, “You have shown yourselves to be noble, disciplined, and loyal. Now you protect your nation—our nation! Under the Allfather you will protect the peace in the Nine Realms and our blessed country. You will never grow old, and you will die, with honor, in battle.”

  Amy shivers and stomps her feet. The team is silent, as though spellbound.

  Through her earpiece comes the sound of heavy breathing. In an uncanny impersonation of Darth Vader Bohdi says, “Join us and together we will end this destructive conflict and bring peace and order to the galaxy.”

  Claire snickers. Amy bites back her own laughter and hears chuckles crackle over the shared frequency “Patel ...” says Berry, and Amy can hear him biting back a laugh, “not the time.”

  In the sky, Beatrice shouts, “And does this offer to become a warrior extend to my granddaughter?”

  Beside Amy, Redman shifts. She feels eyes slide to her.

  “We have orders that Dr. Lewis is not to be harmed,” says one of the Einherjar.

  Amy remembers how Odin looked at her at the dining table in Asgard, like she was some fascinating form of insect. Her hands ball into helpless fists. “I’d rather die,” she whispers, and then realizes that her words are being broadcast to everyone on the team.

  The man who looks African lifts his chin and begins to speak in a Southern drawl. “Captain Rogers, your skin color is as mine. Know this, among the Einherjar skin color does not matter. Among our ranks we are a true meritocracy.”

  For a moment there is nothing but the sound of wings and wind rising high above the canyon’s peaks. And then Steve speaks, voice so even it’s frightening. “You born a slave?”

  The Einherjar stands straighter. “I was born one, but I am a free man now.”

  There are murmurs in the trench. Amy hears Licht say, “Well, they age well.”