by C. Gockel
“Have you sworn to obey Odin’s orders?” Steve says.
“That is a warrior’s oath to his superior!” the Einherjar says. Amy blinks. In all of Loki’s memories, there are none of an Einherjar disobeying Odin.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” says Steve. “Our oath is only to obey appropriate orders. You should join us, Brothers, and be truly free.”
It must be the right thing to say, because someone on the team mutters, “That’s right.” Redman shifts beside her as he adjusts his rifle.
The Einherjar scowl. The man who just addressed them looks like he’s shaking something out of his ear. Before Amy can think on it, the first Einherjar says, “You have a daughter, Captain Rogers. Think of her.”
Amy has a moment of panic, and her eyes slide to Steve. She can’t see much of him between his muffler and helmet, only his eyes, trained on Odin’s warriors. Claire is the one thing she thinks Steve actually loves—she’s the only person who can make him visibly emotional. How much will he give to protect her?
Claire’s voice rings in the frosty night, echoing in the canyon. “I’m not going to be a slave!”
Ears splitting from the yell, Amy turns to the little girl—and finds her gone. She hears a tiny, childlike growl, looks back and sees Claire with a beach-ball sized chunk of ice and rocks balanced in one hand, obviously poised to throw it. Amy rushes over and knocks the ice and rocks away just before Claire launches it at the Einherjar … and nearly has the wind knocked out of her in the process. The projectile falls into some unpacked snow and sinks deep as Amy nearly somersaults over it. “How did you lift that?” she mutters.
From the canyon the Einherjar voice rings. “You have until dawn to consider our offer.” They drop their visors, snap their heels, turn, and begin marching back across the snow.
x x x x
Bohdi watches the backs of the retreating warriors. He’d sensed no lie in their words, although he doubts Odin’s definition of not harming Amy would fit his own.
Over the shared frequency Thomas’s gravelly voice rumbles, “If we weren’t going to fight them to the death at sunrise, it would have been nice to have invited them over for a chat.”
Bohdi feels his shoulders loosen a bit. No one’s planning on joining the other team. Why had he been worried?
“If we wait for sunrise, it will be to the death, alright,” Berry says. “Our decoys are very convincing by night, but in the light of day I don’t think they’ll work.”
Bohdi circles in the sky, surveying Redman’s statues. Berry is right.
“We could send a team over,” Steve says. “Start a scuffle.”
“Might piss them off enough to attack,” Berry says.
“Or they’d just kill the reconnaissance team and decide they’d rather have a full night’s sleep before killing us,” Larson replies.
Sigyn’s voice, strained and tremulous, comes over the radio. “Even invisible, it would be hard to go unnoticed by their dogs. I’m not certain we’d be able to reach their camp.”
Bohdi looks across the plain. The Barrett rifles the SEALs carry have an effective range of about eighteen hundred meters. The camps of the Einherjar and the irregulars are about two thousand meters away, with bonfires glowing in the night, shadows of the camp guards slanting across the snow before them, and their lean wolf-like dogs trailing around the perimeter. From what Sigyn is saying, the camps might as well be an impenetrable fortress.
His fists tighten on his rifle. Chaos wins because Chaos cheats. He watches their flickering torches, now about three hundred meters away. “If we kill the messengers,” Bohdi says quietly, “that will piss them off enough.” He closes his eyes, feeling the cold wind burning his skin between his muffler and his helmet. He feels a lump at the back of his throat, like he might throw up. He feels the weight of Steve’s gaze below and knows he won’t like that suggestion—no one will like it.
Over the radio, Rush squawks. “They’re Americans!”
Tucker’s voice cracks over the frequency, breathless and horrified. “They’re unarmed.”
Berry says quietly, “It would have to be a hand-to-hand attack. Our bullets won’t work.”
Bohdi feels a cold weight growing within his chest. “I’ll do it,” Bohdi whispers. “I’m not American.”
“You want to attack unarmed men?” says Larson.
“No,” Bohdi says. He remembers the proud lift of the former slave’s chin, how fearlessly the warriors took off their helmets, knowing the humans would not fire on them.
“We’ll think of something else,” says Steve. Bohdi glances across the plain. The Einherjar are almost back at their camp. He feels a rising wave of panic.
Breath rattling in his ears, Bohdi tries to speak rationally. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” He feels his wings shudder. On the edge of his vision he sees red. He’s furious. Not at the SEALs, or the Einherjar, but at Odin for putting him in this horrible position—killing people who don’t deserve it and destroying the faith the people he cares about have in him. “Ruth, Henry, Laura, Dale, Brett and Bryant, all the others—if they’re alive it’s because Odin’s busy with us. I don’t want to sacrifice my friends—you know they’ll be unarmed when Odin attacks them!”
It’s only when he hears his words echoing back to him from the snowy cliff face that he realizes he’s begun to scream.
x x x x
The desperation in Bohdi’s voice rings through the canyon. Steve looks up into the sky. Through his night vision goggles he is able to pick Bohdi out among the fliers. His flight path is jagged and irregular.
Tucker’s voice hums over the radio. “But if we become our enemy, what are we really fighting for?”
“Yes,” says Larson.
Steve’s teeth grind. He sees the wisdom in Bohdi’s words. But he also needs the respect of the team. They won’t see this as an honorable option. Neither does Steve.
… And then he thinks of Claire and closes his eyes. No. He can’t let her be the deciding factor—even if a little voice is whispering at the back of his mind that attacking now is the best option. He has to think of Earth.
He looks up at Bohdi, bouncing up and down erratically in the air. Steve is literally navigating the seas between order and chaos. There is a moral argument to be made that ending a conflict as soon as possible, by any means necessary, is the moral option.
He looks up at the cliff; the team up there is invisible. He could issue an order for the team down here to attack the retreating Einherjar, but it would be much better to convince Larson it is the right thing to do. Berry is already open to the idea. If Larson gets behind it, the other team members will follow.
He lifts his binoculars to his eyes. The Einherjar are about halfway to their camp. He exhales. He knows how to convince Larson.
From behind him he hears Lewis whisper, “Ask them what they will do to Gerðr.”
Steve turns his head and looks down at the doctor. She has her hand over the microphone of her headset. Her eyes are boring into his.
That was exactly what he was going to do. Gerðr was abducted from her homeland because Freyr, one of Odin’s servants, now serving as Asgard’s ambassador at Chernobyl, had a hankering for her. No one in Asgard had intervened.
“The answer will convince Larson,” Lewis says. Her jaw gets very tight and Steve has a moment of disorientation. For years he’s known Lewis is smart and skilled at her chosen profession—but he’s always thought of her as bumbling but lucky, saved by her association with Chaos. For the first time it hits him that Lewis might be dangerous.
He gives her a curt nod, turns back to the Einherjar, and is about to shout, when over his earpiece comes Harding saying, “Gerðr is gone … she just vanished.” She sounds confused.
“She took a Glock,” says Mills, and she sounds a little hurt. Of course, they’d begun to think of Gerðr as part of the team.
Steve blinks. And then Gerðr materializes in front of the retreating Einherjar. She’s still wearing wings, but not her ha
t or bracelets.
“Gerðr!” Larson says.
Over the shared radio the Frost Giantess’ voice rises. “Take off your helmets.”
Steve feels no urge to do so. He blinks again. It’s the distance. She’s too far away for the compulsion to work, even if she still looks heartbreakingly beautiful. Her usually wan looks have been transformed to something ethereal and haunting; she seems to glow from within.
The Einherjar take off their helmets. From their camp rises the howl of dogs.
Gerðr raises the Glock. “I will never be your prisoner again!”
By his side, Claire says, “What’s happening, Daddy? Is she going to shoot them?”
Shots ring out in the night. And then a roar from the Einherjar rises in the canyon and is echoed by the irregulars on the plains.
Spinning, Steve takes Claire’s shoulder and pushes her to the cliff face. “This is happening, now!” he shouts. “Wing team, get down here.”
Beatrice, Berry, and Park drop and raise their rifles, but there is no Bohdi. Steve looks up to see a shape swooping from the sky toward Gerðr. Bohdi’s voice cracks over the radio, strangely inflectionless. “Losing my wings. I’ll be most helpful to Gerðr.”
Steve’s heart drops, but Bohdi’s right. He steers Claire to the cliff wall. Lewis is close by with Redman and her dog. Wire lines with hooks fall from the cliff. Steve grabs one with one hand and wraps his free arm around Claire’s waist, pushing her face to his chest, hoping to spare her the view.
“I’ve got the dog and Lewis secured!” says Redman.
“Lift!” says Steve. He is hoisted from above. As they rise, Claire puts her hands on the wire, and the weight of her in his arms becomes next to nothing. Steve blinks. She is supporting her own weight and some of Steve’s all by herself. In the periphery of his vision he sees Bohdi and Gerðr in a tangle of limbs with the Einherjar, more Einherjar spilling from their camp toward them. He hears gunfire and the whizz of plasma. But his eyes are riveted on his daughter. Despite the noise, and the chaos, she’s got a grin from ear to ear, as though everything is just a game.
“See?” she says. “I’m strong!”
For some reason, it is horrifying.
x x x x
The night vision goggles Bohdi wears normally give the world a greenish tinge. But Bohdi’s vision is red. His fury at Odin knows no bounds. Through his haze of rage, he sees three Einherjar sprawled on the ground in blossoming flowers of bloody snow, but the violence seems to have shaken the remaining men from their stupor. One is holding Gerðr’s arm in the air, two more are preparing to lunge. Bohdi fires on two with his Glock before plowing into one of Gerðr’s assailants from above, his arms and chest careening into cold armor. He hears another gunshot, and someone on the radio screams, “Gerðr, Bohdi down!” but he’s already tumbling into the snow, into the Einherjar below him. The man still doesn’t have on his helmet, but he easily dislodges Bohdi, flipping him over, pinning his hand with the Glock. For a moment the man pauses and draws back slightly. He laughs, and even over the sound of gunshots, Bohdi hears, “You’re wearing wings but are not a woman—argr boy!” Bohdi snarls, prepares to flip the man over … and the man’s head explodes in a shower of bone, blood and gore. Bohdi screams and pushes himself backward in the snow.
He hears Larson’s voice in his ear. “Stay down, and get to the wall! Gerðr, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” says Gerðr.
“Move quickly, they’re coming.”
It’s only then that Bohdi hears the pounding and the shouts. He peels off his wings, and begins frantically half crawling, half running through the snow toward the canyon wall. He glances further into the canyon and sees Einherjar tearing out of their camp. He has seconds before they’re upon him. Bullets and plasma fire are whistling overhead, and he’s afraid to stand up and run.
“Come on,” he hears Gerðr say, but can’t see her. The headpiece in his ear buzzes and she says, “Lieutenant Larson, we are about thirty paces from the western wall. Please do not fire on us.” She doesn’t have her magic-blocking gear on, and her English is perfect, almost formal. Bohdi keeps his eyes straight ahead.
Larson’s voice cracks over the radio. “Understood.”
He feels a hand connect with his shoulder and hears Gerðr say, “Stand and run now.”
He runs. He’s only gone a few steps when he realizes something is off. He feels dizzy, unsure of his footing.
“You’re invisible, you can’t see your body,” Gerðr says, before he has time to ask. “Just run!”
Bohdi stumbles forward, the pounding footfalls and screams growing louder. Just as they reach the canyon wall the Einherjar plow past them in a wave. Gerðr and Bohdi fall into a gully behind a bank of snow.
“Are we far enough away from the zone?” Gerðr says.
Bohdi looks over his shoulder and has another moment of disorientation. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on visual cues from his body until now. He shakes the dizziness away and says, “No, we have to keep moving deeper into the canyon.”
He feels her pat his shoulder. “Let’s move then.”
He starts doggedly jogging forward, slipping along the canyon wall as Einherjar pour in the opposite direction. In his ear his radio hums with Berry’s voice. “They’re almost here.”
“Gerðr, Patel, are you out of the zone?”
“Almost clear!” Bohdi says. “Amy, are you, Steve, and Claire out?”
“We’re out,” says Amy. “I can’t see you …”
“Are you bolted to the cliff face, away from the ice and snow?” asks Bohdi.
“Yes,” says Steve. “We are.”
Bohdi feels a weight lift from him.
“Where is Bohdi?” whines Claire, and Steve says, “He’s invisible, too.”
Bohdi pants. “I’m good, Claire, I’m good.” And he is—he can picture his friends in his mind’s eye. Near the rapids, the canyon walls slope upward at a steep angle. Ice and snow had collected above the rapids there, in some places forming dangerous overhangs. But then the mountains sprung up above that, in steep cliffs mostly bare of snow, except for a few crevices—his friends hide in those crevices. The snow below them is filled with charges.
“We have to explode the charges and get out of here,” Berry shouts.
“Go!” shouts Gerðr.
“Do it,” says Bohdi, his lungs starting to ache.
Larson’s voice cracks over the shared channel. “Berry, Beatrice, Park, now.”
On both sides of the canyon explosions sound, as Bohdi’s “plan” goes into the second phase. It gives Gerðr and him a burst of speed. Snow rains on top of them. Bohdi doesn’t look back. He knows what he’ll see. The team is safe on a clear rock face above the blasts. Only Park, Berry, and Beatrice had remained below to offer some genuine gunfire to confuse the incoming warriors, but the Einherjar and “irregulars” hadn’t noticed that. They’d seen Redman’s snow statues and thought they were closing in on the whole team. At Larson’s words, Berry, Beatrice, and Park had leapt into the air just as the Einherjar poured into the SEAL team’s “camp” and the team in the cliffs exploded charges above.
At least that’s the hope. Another round of explosions goes off. Even though they’re not directly below the charges, snow and chunks of ice rain down on the invisible Frost Giantess and Bohdi. He feels her hand slip from his shoulder. Coughing and sputtering, he turns. He sees snow, and then Gerðr. Even in the meager starlight, she makes the cold leave his limbs. His mouth waters, he licks his lips; he almost reaches for her, he does reach for her. She catches his wrists and meets his eyes. “I cannot stay invisible. Please, Mr. Patel. Turn around.” He does, slowly. As soon as she is out of sight, the spell cracks, but it isn’t completely broken. He wants to turn around … He hears a roar, and the ground trembles. Snow is still falling from above, and from behind, spilling over his snowshoes, and around his legs, like a cold dry wave.
“Run,” says Gerðr.
In his ea
r someone’s voice buzzes. “It’s working!” and that gives more energy to his limbs. He grabs Gerðr’s arm and they stumble through the deluge.
“Did we make it?” asks Gerðr.
Snow is still falling around them gently, but Bohdi doesn’t look back to check.
“Begin second phase,” says Larson.
Second phase means they’re lowering the snowmobiles from the cliffs. Sparse plasma fire streaks overhead. “Amy?” he whispers.
“I’m fine.”
He still hears rumbling behind him and keeps running, head bent over, dragging Gerðr with him, until the rubble subsides. Lungs burning, he turns around. It’s a mistake. He sees a mountain of snow where there should be a canyon; near the top he’s dimly aware of moving figures. There are a few warriors at the base of the mountain half buried in snow. But what fills his vision is Gerðr—or rather just her eyes. She’s pulled her muffler up over her nose, and she’s wearing her hat. Only her eyes and the slope of her nose are visible. He dips his head to hers, and his hands burn to pull down the muffler. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s lifted his gloved hands to her face. He blinks, frightened and unsettled by what he was just planning on doing. He throws his hands in front of his eyes instead and mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Gerðr tackles him to the ground.
“What are you doing!” He whines, his back in snow, rifle digging into his spine, his front covered by the Frost Giantess. He hears gunfire and shouts in Asgardian in the distance. “Reinforcements are coming,” Gerðr whispers. Bohdi pulls his hands apart, trying to roll over. Gerðr fills his vision. Her muffler has slipped from her mouth. Even in the snow, heat floods him, and it has to be obvious to her. Scrunching his eyes closed, he chants, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” It’s too much—the rage, and then the terror, the adrenaline, and the lust, he feels like his mind is going to explode. He needs to think of something real, so he reaches into his mind ... and pulls out a vision of Amy from a dream he had the night before, where he was Loki and blue and … He almost cries.
Gerðr’s weight shifts. And then she’s gone. Bohdi hears the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Raising his head, he sees torches that seem to be suspended in midair. He blinks and his brain processes what he’s seeing: Einherjar in magic armor, jogging toward the snow mountain in three neat lines perpendicular to the canyon’s path. The lines stretch from one cliff face to the other. He hears a shout and the lines halt just ten feet from where he lies by the canyon wall in the snow. The men in the first line drop to their stomachs, the men in the second line kneel down, and the men in the last line stand. They drive their torches into the snow and the scene goes dark.
