by C. Gockel
Sigyn follows at Nari’s side. Valli steps close to him.
“I don’t think so,” says the lead Valkyrie. “Turn over the girl.”
Bohdi aims the gun over the roof of the car. Amy hears him mutter, “Maybe their wings aren’t bulletproof.”
“You need to reconsider,” Nari says.
And then he slips into Asgardian. “You might win this battle if you take Dr. Lewis …”
Amy swallows and draws back.
“Precisely,” says the Valkyrie, with a tilt of her head.
“ … but if you do,” Nari continues in Asgardian, “you’ll lose the war.”
An Einherjar steps up alongside the Valkyrie. “If we take her, we fulfill our mission!” he snarls, his voice tinny through his downed visor.
“Oh, come on,” Nari says maintaining the Asgardian tongue. “It’s not Dr. Lewis Odin really wants, it’s Earth. Take her in front of all these humans and you put the larger mission in jeopardy.”
The Valkyrie doesn’t move, or respond.
“What’s going on?” Bohdi says, through clenched teeth.
Nari switches back to English. “Why precisely does Odin want Doctor Lewis?” Amy notices he raises his voice and stresses the syllables in her title.
“You know the charges!” snaps an Einherjar in English.
“Because she came up with an innovative treatment for Director Steve Rogers?” Nari supplies.
At the mention of the downed hometown hero, another wave of murmurs goes through the crowd of humans behind them. Amy hears what she thinks is the click of safeties.
In Asgardian Nari says, “How many of the elves have armor-piercing bullets, I wonder?”
“Not so many we couldn’t take them!” says the lead Einherjar.
Hands still above his head, Nari shrugs and says in Asgardian. “Yes, but Dr. Lewis might be caught in the cross-fire, and it would be a bloodbath very close to a human medical establishment. They feel much differently about the sick and elderly than you do.” Amy can hear the smile in Nari’s voice when he adds, “It wouldn’t go over well, trust me.”
She shivers. The Einherjar and the Valkyrie shift on their feet. From beyond them come the raucous rawking of ravens. Amy raises her head and sees Odin’s raven messengers, Huginn and Muninn, dive from the sky.
One lands on the spear of the Einherjar. Alighting on the shoulder of the Valkyrie, the other raven says in English, “Draw back! Help the humans on the peninsula! Save them from trolls.”
A ripple of murmurs goes through the crowd.
In the distance, Amy hears the wail of police sirens.
The Valkyrie and the Einherjar drop back a step. “Allfather’s orders!” rawks the raven. The two birds flutter off their perches.
“You heard Odin’s messengers!” shout the Einherjar. “Fall back to the Gate!”
The Valkyrie on the ground swiftly take to the sky. The Einherjar turn on their heels, and falling into neat lines, jog back to the pier.
Amy lets out a long breath and then jumps when one of Odin’s ravens lands on the roof of the police car. Bohdi points the gun directly at it, but Sigyn says, “Let it talk.”
The raven raises its wings in a sort of shrug. “Don’t shoot me, I come in peace, Mr. Patel!” It cocks its jet black head. The feathers on its neck ruffle upwards. “Odd,” it croaks, beady eyes on Bohdi. The bird points its beak at Amy and rawks. “You’re both very odd.”
Amy draws back a step.
“Don’t talk to my grandchild like that!” snaps Beatrice.
“You’re not going to defend me?” Bohdi says.
Hopping toward Amy the bird says, “You make me remember something …”
Eyes still on the bird, Beatrice says, “No, Bohdi, you definitely are—”
She’s cut off by the shape of the other bird hurtling into the first. As the first bird tumbles from the car roof and then takes to the sky, the second bird rawks. “Don’t insult them, Muninn.”
Amy’s eyes dart to the bird that was knocked off the car. It circles in the sky. So that’s Muninn—the name means memory. In her mind she hears Mimir’s voice. “Muninn remembers everything.”
“Ahem,” the raven that must be Huginn says, keeping her from slipping too deep into reminiscence. The bird raises its discordant voice. “The Allfather extends his apologies to Dr. Lewis and the city of Chicago for the confusion. His forces stand ready to coordinate with yours in dealing with the current troll invasion.”
She hears Henry, just a few steps away, say, “Troll invasion?” Murmurs and shouts rise behind them.
Beside her, she hears Bohdi swallow. Down the block, the loud wail of ambulances rise. From above she hears a helicopter … but the sound is less than a buzz and more of a roar.
Taking to the air, the raven says, “Have a nice day!”
CHAPTER 10
Steve’s eyes flutter open in near darkness. His body doesn’t hurt and his neck isn’t crawling with the itch of morphine. Those realizations make his mind sharpen to a state of crystal clear awareness he associates with being in the line of fire—or being in front of a crowd. For a moment he feels a rush of hope, but then that fades. He doesn’t hurt, but he doesn’t feel.
His eyes flutter again. The clarity dissipates, like dandelion seeds stirred by a breeze. Sleep is like quicksand trying to pull him under.
… and Jesus, when did he get so poetic? Is this an aftereffect of all the drugs, the serum Amy gave him, exhaustion, or the “excitement” this morning with Gerðr? Was that this morning?
In the distance he hears a roar and a boom. His eyes slide to the window. He sees Amy and Bohdi silhouetted by early afternoon light. Standing apart, their poses mirror one another, arms wrapped around themselves, instead of each other. Steve believes in love like he believes in the Easter Bunny—but a loyal partner can help you weather storms—and Bohdi’s been weathering his own personal hurricane since coming back from Nornheim. And as a couple, the two of them just work. They’re obviously attracted to each other, what is holding them back? His brow furrows, and he winces. He is not a romantic. Why is he bothering to think about this?
He hears another boom, and the roar gets louder. His brain recognizes that roar. Helicopter and artillery … He shuts his eyes tight. Why is he hearing them here? Now? The Dark Elves are their friends …
Eye snapping open, he rasps. “What happened?”
He hears his mother’s familiar steps. “Steve, are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?” He hears his father grunt, the shuffle of his footsteps, and the tiny patter of dog feet. And how can a dog be here but not his daughter? Does he want her here? To see him like this?
“No,” says Steve. His eyes slide toward his mother’s voice, but she’s out of his line of vision. “Thanks … no …” His eyes go to Bohdi and Amy. “What happened?”
Uncrossing her arms, Amy looks down. Bohdi’s head droops.
“Troll invasion,” says Henry.
“Where’s Claire?” says Steve, his words too fast. If he could move he’d bolt out of bed.
“In the lobby, with friends,” says his mother. He can see her now, holding his hand. But he can’t feel anything.
Steve closes his eyes. “Elves …” he murmurs.
“Yes,” says his mother. “And Beatrice, a young lady named Sigyn, and her two boys.”
“She’s safe,” Steve says. It’s all he can focus on, even if there’s something about the name Sigyn that should alarm him. He’s too tired. The room around him is getting fuzzy.
“Yes,” says his mother, and he can see her squeezing his hand tighter even if he can’t feel it. Darkness comes over the room. His eyes open for an instant more, and he realizes the darkness was just his eyelids. His lids slide shut again and sleep washes over him like a warm and welcome tide. He drifts just below consciousness into a vivid dream of being a boy playing with a train set too fancy to be his. The train set is on an oriental rug, like some of the guys in the Corp picked up in Iraq. The rug
is thick and plush against his fingers. In the dream his child self keeps trying to pull a train around a bend, but the cars at the end keep tipping over.
“It’s too long,” his mother says. But Steve’s child self says, “No, they have to stay together!”
He opens his eyes again and has a sensation of being under water, looking up into air. The room is darker. He blinks his eyes. The dream was so vivid, it seems more like a memory. But that never happened … he never had a train set like that, and his parents certainly never owned an oriental rug.
He hears the voice of Cindy, the not-waitress. “We can help the bones mend.”
And then he hears Amy. “Steve, you’re awake.” She’s leaning over him an instant later, stray wisps of hair from a pony tail trailing over her shoulder. Cindy’s head comes into view. Her blonde bob doesn’t have a hair out of place.
He remembers their almost escape, and helping her to her feet when he was whole. He hates anyone seeing him like this, but especially her … this stranger … He wants to ask his mother to see her out and wracks his mind for some excuse, but then he blinks. He remembers the conversation earlier and makes the connection. “Sigyn,” he says, eyes sliding to the blonde woman. “Loki’s wife.”
His mother is beside him a moment later. “We’re not sure why you’re not recovering as fast as Fenrir.”
Steve’s eyes slide to Amy. “I’m having strange dreams …”
Amy’s mouth opens slightly, and then she nods. “You have a lot of magical activity in the areas of your cerebrum and cerebellum, but you’re not getting better as fast as I’d expect. I’m hesitant to administer another dose just yet though.”
Steve has no idea what she’s just said; he just lifts an eyebrow because he can’t wave a hand and says, “Fine.”
Beside him, his mother says, “Sigyn thinks she can speed the repair of the bones in your neck.”
“Of course she can,” comes a smooth voice that is familiar. At the foot of the bed Loki appears. Steve blinks again and it isn’t Loki—the man is too broad, too blonde, and too wholesome looking.
“My son, Nari,” says Sigyn.
Nari tips his head. “Speeding the repair of magic matter is tricky—but giving a boost to the mending of broken bones is basic first aid. Even I can do it.”
Another man appears at the end of the bed. He could be Nari’s double. “But not me. I’m better at destroying things, like father was.” For a minute Steve thinks he’s hallucinating, but then he remembers that Loki had two sons, and this man’s hair is a shade closer to red. The second son grins, and it’s shark like and disconcerting. “Mr. Patel and I led a troll invasion against the forces of Asgard. They still haven’t driven all the beasts from Navy Pier. The bards will sing of—”
Ducking and wincing, the second son’s hand goes to the back of his neck, as though he just got hit on the back of the head. Over the second son’s shoulder Steve sees Bohdi, fist upraised, butt-end of a lighter protruding from it. Looking at a place somewhere in the vicinity of Steve’s feet, Bohdi says, “We did. But it was an accident.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too much to deal with. “Valli,” he says. “You’re Valli.” He opens his eyes again, and looks between the mother and her two sons. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“It’s a long story—” Valli starts to say.
Steve’s too tired for it. “Your daughter?” he says, eyes on Sigyn. Hadn’t Loki had a daughter?
The boys are silent. Sigyn’s face gets a far away look. “Dead long ago.”
Hearing about anyone’s kid dying is like a punch in the gut. Steve’s stood on that precipice and looked down. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Sigyn nods. Steve’s eyes go to the ceiling. He should ask more questions. He wants to ask them to leave. But he’s just so tired; all he wants is sleep.
By his side, his mother says, “Do you want them to help you?”
“Sure,” Steve says. “Sure.” He’s already been given a modified AIDs virus. He finds himself fighting a laugh. How much more dangerous could bone-mending magic be?
He thinks he sees Sigyn and Nari shift on their feet. He closes his eyes. Just for a moment.
… And everything’s black. Steve smells soot, damp, and human filth. He opens his eyes and finds himself standing in the tunnels beneath Chicago. The same tunnels where he first met Odin and saw Cera. Where he and Loki killed a wyrm. Normally the tunnels are empty, but now they’re filled with people. They are dressed in rags, leaning against the walls. Somewhere a baby wails.
Steve takes a step forward. The movement feels too light. He looks down at his feet and finds himself hovering above the ground. He’s dreaming, or hallucinating again. A man leaning against the wall moans, and Steve knows it’s a bad dream, but waking up a paraplegic isn’t a good one either. He decides he’d rather not wake up. He walks a few steps, noting that many of the people seem to have burns. Someone throws up at his feet. No one seems to notice him, even when he is sucked right through a wall.
He finds himself in a large room that’s empty except for a single, solitary man, holding a sword that pulses with blue light. The man stands in the classic Kumdo short stance: one leg forward, bent at the knee, the other leg with the knee inches from the ground, sword held up at an almost forty-five degree angle. The sword pulses with blue light, like Laevithin did but Steve’s not quite close enough to identify it. The man holding the sword is of African descent, tall, broad in the shoulders, with very dark skin. He has a medical patch over one eye. It takes Steve a moment to recognize the man is himself.
Straightening to a standing position, Steve’s double sheaths the sword in a swift motion. Walking forward, chin dipped to his chest, single eye on Steve, he says, “Can you tell me where Loki is?” His tone makes it not so much a question as an order.
Steve opens his mouth, and he almost says Bohdi automatically. And then he steps back. Outside of the dream world, he is in a magically unshielded room. Odin’s read his mind before. Maybe he can plant dreams, too? Running his tongue over his teeth, Steve says, “How do I know you’re not Odin?”
The other man’s lips curl in a snarl. “Odin is dead!”
“Odin is not dead, and he’s the reason I’m lying in a hospital bed right now!” Steve snaps back.
“But you’re magical,” the other Steve says, his snarl melting away. “If Odin isn’t dead, how is that possible?”
Uncertain if he’s really alone in this dream, Steve falls back to the same response he’d use if he was awake. “That’s classified.”
His other self’s single eye flicks to him and he snorts. Shaking his head, he says, “I am such a stubborn ass.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. Inclining his head back toward the tunnel, he says, “What happened here?”
The other man’s eye narrows. “It didn’t happen in your world?”
Steve stares dumbly at him for a moment, his mind racing.
Starting to pace, his other self says, “Loki got Cera, the Nine Realms went to shit—and then he vanished. I need to find Loki and Hoenir if I’m going to fix this … ” He waves his hand in the direction of the tunnels.
Steve’s jaw goes slack, and he understands how his brain is regurgitating this nightmare. This is straight out of his debriefing with Lewis from her time in parallel universes. “Lewis was here …”
The other Steve blinks. “Yes! She came, and then she disappeared with Loki.”
Steve lifts his hand and rubs his jaw, and then stares at his hand. He is solid to himself. His eyes flick back to his other self. How much should he say? A woman wails in the tunnels, and then begins to sob. Steve’s not sure how the sound is entering the room, but it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He runs his tongue over his teeth again, and then says, “He killed himself, destroying Cera. He’ll have a new form here, too.” It’s just a dream. What harm could it do to tell ... and if it’s more than a dream, if Odin is ‘hearing’ him again, it’s something
Odin already knows.
“I need to know what that form is!” Steve’s other self says. Coming forward, he moves to put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, but they pass right through. Clutching his hands to his chest, the other man says, “Please.”
Steve almost says Bohdi’s name again. But he can’t betray the kid, not even in a dream. Somewhere someone moans. Even if it is a terrible construct of his subconsciousness, he wants to help. He swallows, and then remembers his debriefing with Lewis after her visit to other universes. He can tell the truth and not give Bohdi away. “The form he takes in my universe is dead in yours.” In this universe, Bohdi was the first person Loki killed … can that possibly have been coincidence?
Steve’s other self’s single eye flicks between both of Steve’s own. “You’re telling the truth,” his other self says, and pulls back. Steve can see his other self’s tongue running over his teeth. Shaking his head, his other self says, “And Hoenir, have you found Hoenir yet?”
“No.”
Nodding, the other man looks away. “They’re always together, always together. ” Steve’s eyebrows almost rise in surprise. Hoenir would find Bohdi? Hadn’t Lewis said Hoenir was one of the three most powerful beings in the universe? Is it crazy to have all of Bohdi’s non-work contacts checked out based on a dream?
Crossing his arms, his other self says, “Odin tried to kill you?”
“Yes.” Steve gives a tight smile. “He’s trying to take over Earth.”
The other man meets Steve’s eyes. Turning away, rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Yeah, yeah, I can see him doing that.” He turns back to Steve. “Claire … Dana, my—your—our mother and father?”
Steve stares at him a moment. What is a dream but a dive into the unconscious? An amalgamation of things seen but not consciously perceived, things you know, without knowing. Can he extract information from this place—his own mind—just like he would from a suspect? If he was trying to interrogate a subject, this is about the time he’d toy with their emotions.