by C. Gockel
“It is true,” says Gerðr. “I felt it too.” She says it with her head raised, looking down her nose, as though observing a bug.
“And the other men as well,” says Sigyn. “I first sensed it this morning, when Mr. Berry was helping me with my gear.”
The grizzled veteran at the table steps back from the table. “Errrr …” he says.
Sigyn continues. “But I thought I was imagining things. And then Harding’s hand brushed mine a few minutes ago and I became suspicious.”
“There was more serum leftover. It was confiscated,” Amy whispers. She turns to Larson and Berry. “Did you receive inoculations in the last week?”
Berry absently rubs his shoulder. “We were told it was to combat alien viruses and bacteria.”
Gerðr lifts an eyebrow. “It help with that,” she says in her slightly broken English.
Larson stands up straighter. “Well, I can’t lift rocks or spaceships with my mind,” his eyes flick to Gerðr. “Or see the future—”
“Us either,” says Nari. “That would be quite a trick. Only a very experienced magic user could perform telekinesis, and no one can really see the future.”
Larson blinks at him, mouth slightly ajar. Amy wonders if she should explain the cultural reference, but then the Lieutenant shakes his head and says, “This is extraneous conjecture. We need to focus on what we do now.”
“Agreed,” says Steve.
Larson lifts his head. Eyes on Steve, he says, “Sir, we have some explosive ordinances. We can blow those pieces of bridge up on this side of the Gate, and then we can blow up the rubble on the other side.”
Amy’s eyes widen. “That might work. Bohdi has a theory that a Gate is actually more of an envelope in space time, a sort of magical event horizon. Just because it’s closed over there, we still might be able to open it and blow it up from over here!”
Bohdi’s chest puffs up a little. “You have enough explosive power to blow up the collapsed overpass?” His lighter flickers and his face becomes animated. “I have some experience in explosive ordinance disposal … which was mostly blowing things up, and—”
“We don’t have that kind of power,” Berry says. “We might clear the mess on this side of the Gate, maybe—but not the rest of the overpass on the other side.”
Amy sees the air leaving Larson’s chest. “We have to try!” he says. “We have to warn people about what’s happening.”
Amy’s heart rate quickens. “If Odin has a contact among the Prometheans he has to know we are in the Wastes. They are looking for us, and they will find us soon. There are other paths back to Earth … ” Though not direct routes.
“You believe we should find another way back?” Steve says.
Amy looks around the tent. All eyes are on her. She thinks of the whales, the ice, and the number of troops Odin will have at his disposal. They didn’t escape Odin last time because of the trolls, or even Beatrice’s flamethrower … they escaped because Odin didn’t want a public-relations disaster. He may have been able to justify his attacks on the embassies in Eastern Europe on their countries’collusion with Dark Elves … but so far the U.S. government’s hands are clean, never mind how long that might last if a proxy war begins. Her eyes go to the door of the tent—there will be no one to witness their deaths here. “Yes, I think finding another way would be better,” she says.
Steve’s eyes go to Gerðr and the two Asgardians. “And your analysis?”
“The same,” says Sigyn. Nari nods. And Gerðr says, “My king may help, too. He knows Gates even I don’t know.”
Amy’s eyes go quickly to Gerðr, something nagging at her mind. Before she can get a word out, Larson says, “Respectfully, Sir, these—people—are not Americans. Their interests do not align with ours.” Amy remembers the guys in the van, looking to Larson before following Steve’s orders and she shivers.
“But Amy is American,” says Bohdi. “Not that citizenship should matter. I’m pretty sure lots of countries have a lot to lose, considering Odin’s established diplomatic relations with two nuclear powers.”
Ignoring Bohdi, Larson points at Amy and says, “I’ve seen her file. Pandora here is Loki’s ex-lover. How much can she be trusted? She colluded with a man who destroyed half of Chicago.”
Amy takes a step back, startled by the accusation, the force of Larson’s words, and confusion. Pandora? Before she can get her bearings, the doors of the tent fly open and Valli charges in, sword upraised. In a voice loud enough for the whole camp to hear he shouts, “I am Valli Lokison! My father died saving your miserable life! Take back your words!”
Amy hears clicks sounding around the tent. Bohdi’s arm goes around her and pushes her down. Ducking her head, she raises her eyes and sees Steve, pistol out, pointed at Valli’s head. Berry and Larson are in the same position. Sigyn and Nari exchange looks, but neither makes any move to raise a gun.
Valli, sword still upraised, grinds out. “Mother, Nari!”
Sigyn, eyes on Larson, says, “Valli, they don’t know. You can’t hold them responsible. Lower your sword.”
Valli slowly lowers the weapon. Bohdi lifts his arm from Amy’s back, but he still stands very close.
As soon as the sword is down, Nari says, “Well, now we can all be honest with each other.” Amy might be imagining that he raises an eyebrow in her direction. “I am Nari Lokison and this is my mother, Sigyn.”
“Loki’s ex-wife,” says Sigyn, head tilted, eyes swiftly scanning the eyes of everyone in the room. “But our relationship ended on good terms.” She gives everyone a tight smile.
Larson’s jaw ticks. “Is this why Odin is fighting us? Because we’re on the side of Loki—of Chaos, and destruction, and—”
“Loki isn’t the devil!” Bohdi blurts out. There’s something a little plaintive in his tone.
Larson turns to face Bohdi, his gaze very hard and cold.
Bohdi’s lighter flares in his hand. “I know … I didn’t believe it either. But he isn’t, or wasn’t, and Odin isn’t God… And Odin even told Amy and me that Loki saved the world.” His eyes go to the side, and he shrugs, “And if Odin—you know, Loki’s biggest frenemy—said that, I think it was true.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s true,” Berry says, stepping toward Larson. “Bob … I agree, the American people need to know what happened here today … but we can’t get through this Gate. We’ll die here—if not at Odin’s hands, of starvation. And it will be in vain.”
It’s the first time Amy’s heard Larson called by anything but his last name. She remembers what Mills told her about Warrant Officers commanding more respect. Larson drops his eyes. “I don’t like being stuck here, unable to protect our home.”
“Believe me, I sympathize,” says Gerðr. Her tone isn’t particularly sympathetic. But she’s not looking down her nose for once.
Larson looks to her. For a long moment he says nothing, and then he nods. “Okay, right. We go to this King Utgard.”
Amy feels a chill race down her spine.
Berry addresses the table, “If Odin’s infiltrated the Prometheans, he’ll be expecting us to go there. But if Utgard will give us aid—”
“He won’t,” Amy says. Her hands ball into fists at her side.
Gerðr gasps.
Amy turns to the giantess, “He’ll give you aid, Gerðr. You’re his own people. He’ll have an excuse to take you back. But without a gift, without some game changer … he won’t risk Odin’s wrath.” She drops her head. “And you know it.”
x x x x
Despite the rumors, the palace of King Utgard does not float in the clouds. Rather, it is carved into the living rock of a mesa so high that clouds often surround it. Leaning over the terrace of the palace, Loki can see the World Gate he and Thor should have emerged on. Roads converge at the Gate and then stretch across the plains that surround the mesa. The plains, unlike the Southern Wastes, are green. Enormous beasts graze among steaming geysers. And though Loki cannot see it, he know
s beneath the plain and in the mesa are vast caverns. Edible tubers and other plants that feed on geothermal heat grow there.
The mesa is a strange place. Some say it was once the seat of power for all the realms and was built by King Ymir. According to legend, King Ymir enchanted it so that he’d always have magical energy at his disposal, and that is why magic thrums in the stones.
It is the sort of place that should make a strong magic user like Loki feel invincible. Unfortunately, he feels like he will hurl.
“I can’t believe you lost that eating contest,” Thor says, smacking a hand on Loki’s shoulder.
Loki groans, puts his elbows on the wall of the terrace, and rests his head on his hands.
“Sorry,” Thor says, drawing his hand away. “It’s just… How could that Logi fellow best you?”
“He claims to be the spirit of fire,” Loki mutters. “And fire consumes everything … ”
“But fire is your element!” Thor says. “Didn’t humans say you were God of Fire, or some such?”
Loki groans. “Maybe they got the wrong guy.”
“Logi looks a lot like you,” Thor says. “Do you think he might be a relative of yours?”
“How should I know?” Loki grumbles.
A door opens somewhere, and music comes pouring out onto the terrace. Someone calls,“You, Whale Slayer! You’re wanted in the hall.”
Thor knocks Loki with an elbow, and Loki whines. Oblivious, Thor says, “Maybe they want to hear again how I electrocuted the whale again.”
Sensing another retelling, Loki squeezes his eyes shut. “No, Thor, no … ” he begs, and not just in deference to his stomach. As soon as Loki and Thor reached dry land and were no longer in danger of a dunk, Thor’d just struck the creature with his hammer. It was really quite anti-climactic. But from Thor’s retelling, you’d think the creature’s death throes shook all of the Southern continent.
The Frost Giant crossing the terrace shouts, “You’re wanted for a contest of strength, Thor!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees Thor puff out his chest.
Loki sighs. “Just go.”
“Are you sure?” asks Thor.
Loki groans.
“All right then,” says Thor, brightly. “See you later.”
Loki would roll his eyes at the fickleness of his so-called friend, but in his current condition he’s afraid it would make him sea-sick. The wind blows across the terrace, making a forlorn whistling sound. Loki shivers. Gritting his teeth, ignoring his belly, he focuses on the magic beneath his feet, imagines it traveling through his body and surrounding himself with warmth.
The trick actually works. Loki wonders about Odin’s grumblings about being careful when using his magic here—something about Utgard’s having it fixed so that his tricks will turn against him—when the cloud of warmth around him abruptly turns to a burn.
Loki jumps and sees flames slinking down his cloak. Hopping up and down he rips the cloak off and stamps it beneath his feet until the blaze is gone. He blinks, befuddled, and then realizes the discomfort in his stomach is completely gone.
From behind him he hears music again. He turns, expecting to see Thor. Instead he sees King Utgard walking slowly across the terrace. Utgard refuses to be bribed with Idunn’s apples. He stays alive due to his own magic, and the magic of the stones. Utgard is Odin’s age, but unlike Odin, he shows it. His hair and beard are white and wispy, his eyes are nearly as white with cataracts. He has a walking stick that he leans on and wears a long cloak of bear hide that seems to hold him up rather than the other way around. Still, the man hums with as much magic as the mesa, as though he is a part of it. Normally, Loki finds the strength of his magic distracting, but tonight he is distracted for another reason. Escorting Utgard across the terrace is Gullveig, leader of the tribes of the Iron Wood and Anganboða’s cousin. Even in her youth, Gullveig was never as beautiful as Aggie. Where Aggie was tall and willowy, Gullveig is tall and lanky, without Aggie’s softness and curves. Their faces look like they were carved by the same sculptor. But Aggie’s face had been so flawless it was almost painful to look at. Gullveig looks like the sculptor did a rough sketch in the same marble and then never got around to finishing it. Still … Gullveig has the same bright blue eyes … and once her hair had been the same brilliant black. But she hasn’t had Idunn’s apples either, and now her hair is streaked with gray.
“King Utgard,” Loki says, bowing his head, in deference and maybe to avoid looking at Gullveig. Forgetting himself, he falls to one knee.
Utgard snorts. “Get up, get up, we don’t stand on ceremony here.” Loki rises. Utgard is the most powerful king in Jotunheim but doesn’t demand the same deference Odin enforces in his court. Gullveig’s place on his arm is case in point. She isn’t royalty; Odin calls her a rabble rouser.
“It’s been a long time, Loki,” Gullveig says, and he is forced to look at her. Up close he sees her cheeks are gaunter than he remembers. Her forehead is crossed by lines, and creases dart from the corners of her eyes … but they’re still bright. Her stance is stronger than Loki remembers it, and magic hums around her. It’s nearly the same color as Helen’s was. She wears a wolf pelt over black leather armor, and a sword hangs at her side; Loki doesn’t doubt that she’s hiding as many knives as he is. Warmth that isn’t magic thrums through him, and he finds himself licking his lips. He wouldn’t say she’s grown more beautiful over the years … but she’s grown more attractive.
“So, Luthor, are you satisfied with my loyalty?” Utgard says, interrupting his thoughts.
For a moment, the name takes Loki back. He touches his side where Luthor’s journal is tucked beneath his armor. Does the old man sense Luthor’s magic?
Gullveig whispers, “It is Loki, Utgard.”
Utgard’s brow furrows, and then he waves a hand. “Luthor, Lopt, Loki, their magic is all so similar.”
Loki shivers, and not from cold. He decides that if it isn’t a faux pas to be compared to the dead, it should be. He glances at Gullveig again, and his chest goes heavy.
“Just answer the question,” Utgard says. He pokes Loki’s stomach. “Whatever your name is.”
Loki puts his hand to his chest. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning.” He lies. Of course Thor and Loki are here to assess the old king’s loyalty.
Gullveig huffs. “Mastodon dung, Loki. No one comes to Jotunheim for pleasure.”
Grinning and raising an eyebrow, Loki says, “But they should.” He waves toward the horizon where the sunset is coloring the glaciers spilling over the distant mountains pink and lavender. “The views are beautiful and the whales are delicious.”
“If you find it so beautiful,” Gullveig says, “perhaps you should consider staying among your own kind?”
Stepping forward, Loki sweeps up her hand and kisses it. “The offer is tempting my lady.” It isn’t. Too many of his fellow Frost Giants would love to see him dead. Also, the health benefits of Asgard are too immense to ignore. He gazes down at the hand he holds. Gullveig’s fingers are rough and callused by work, weather, and age.
“Liar,” Gullveig says softly. Loki drops her hand too quickly. There is something too reminiscent of Aggie about her tone.
Utgard gives a snort. “Enough of this flirting.”
Loki blinks. For a moment he is unsure of whether he was flirting or not. He scowls. If anything came of it his wife would find out and kill him. He frowns. His maybe-wife.
Rapping the walking stick on the stones, Utgard says, “Loki, I have no plans to overthrow Odin at this time. Tempting as it may be with the recent skirmishes with the Fire Giants and the Black Dwarves that has thinned your ranks … I’d still lose.”
Loki barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping to the ground. It’s as close to treason as he’s ever heard from anyone in a long, long time. Not that Odin can do anything about it. The magic of the mesa makes Utgard nearly undefeatable on his own turf. Odin might oust him, but he’d be so weakened by the
venture, he’d lose Asgard. Beyond the mesa, Utgard is weaker. His forces, and the forces of the lesser Frost Giant kings loyal to him, are vast, but the Einherjar and Odin still have better armaments. Utgard might still win, but he’d be weakened and one of those “loyal” lesser Frost Giant kings would soon have his head.
Giving him a twisted smile, Utgard says, “Did I say I wouldn’t go to war because I’d lose? I meant I wouldn’t go to war because of my eternal and constant devotion to the Allfather. All hail his greatness.” The lie makes Loki’s skin crawl. As if sensing his discomfort, Utgard cackles. On Gullveig’s arm he hobbles toward the wall of the terrace.
“Oh, look,” the old King says. “Odin or Hoenir has repaired the Gate. Traders are no longer being diverted to the Southern Wastes, and the Frost Giants are better for it.” Loki’s skin crawls again. Utgard gives him a smile. In the dimming light his teeth appear dark, and nearly pointed. “Go home, agent of Odin. I bid you goodnight.” Utgard sets off for the door, but Gullveig stays behind.
As soon as the king is inside the palace, she turns to Loki and says, “You will always be welcome in the Iron Wood … safe from Odin, and welcomed by your own kind.” He senses no lie. Her features are blurred by the dim light of the setting sun, and she looks so much like Aggie that Loki wants to reach out for her.
He almost does, but then the door from the palace bangs open. Thor’s voice roars across the terrace. “Loki! We must leave at once!” A moment later he is grabbing Loki by the shoulders and shaking him. “An old crone just beat me in a contest of strength. This place is bewitched!”
Gullveig laughs. “Age and treachery will always beat youth and valor, young prince.”
Thor actually jumps, spins on his feet, and grabs his hammer. And then his shoulders drop. “Oh, Gullveig, for a moment there I thought you were a ghost.”
“You’ll be coming again to the winter hunt?” Gullveig says, stepping over to Thor.