I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos

by C. Gockel

  “What was that?” says Johnston.

  “That was some big fucking crow!” says Kane.

  Steve sighs. “It’s a raven. There are two. They’ll probably share annoying commentary as soon as we step out of the Hummer. Just ignore it.”

  “Huginn and Muninn?” says Johnston, blue eyes going to Steve.

  Steve nods. “Damn things follow me everywhere.”

  The Sergeant starts playing with something on his chest. “Sir, Odin’s messengers are following you?”

  There’s something off in his tone. Something fawning. It makes Steve very uncomfortable. An awkward silence settles in the Humvee and then Kane shakes his head. “Trolls, elves, giant snakes, talking crows...I hope they catch that Loki guy before this town completely goes to shit.”

  Steve looks up. “What do you know about Loki?”

  Kane blinks and shrugs. “Just what people are saying.”

  “What people? What are they saying?” says Steve.

  “You know,” says Jarett. “Just people.”

  “I think it was even on CNN,” says Johnston.

  “What’s on CNN?” says Steve.

  “That Loki’s causing all this,” says MacAuley matter-of-factly.

  Johnston straightens, “Makes sense if Thor is real, evil would be real too.”

  Steve tilts his head. “I don’t believe in evil.”

  Jarrett whistles low. “With all this shit going down?”

  Cocking an eyebrow at him, Steve says, “And...there is no evidence that Loki is responsible for this...” He waves a hand at the city outside the Hummer window. “This chaos has another source, and the only person who might be able to figure it out is Loki.”

  MacAuley’s eyes go to the rear view mirror. Kane and Jarett exchange glances.

  Johnston tilts his head and stares at Steve. “Whatever you say.” Giving a shrug, the Sergeant’s face goes blank. He lifts the hand from on his chest, and Steve briefly sees a tiny silver hammer on a chain before Johnston slips it beneath his armor.

  Steve’s eyes narrow. Damn it. A pagan. His jaw goes tight. Amy had told him that a lot of the pagan community believed Loki was the pagan equivalent of the devil, even though, in her words, “I don’t think that the Vikings had a concept of evil, per se.”

  He shakes his head. There aren’t that many pagans in the world. What’s worse is that the rank and file believe Loki is the bad guy. That’s going to make working with Loki—if they can find him, and he agrees to help—that much harder.

  Up ahead he sees the sandbags on the ramp to Lower Wacker that mark a checkpoint. MacAuley slows the Hummer as a Guardswoman steps forward and raises her hand. As MacAuley lowers the window and gives her their identification Steve checks his email again. Still no word from Amy.

  He looks towards the darkness of Lower Wacker. They’re on their own. His jaw tightens. And Miss Lewis is on her own too...wherever she is.

  x x x x

  After the hotel’s restaurant, the Indian place Loki and Amy eat at is a hole in the wall and completely unpretentious. It’s a nice change.

  Everyone is speaking French or some variety of Indian dialect. Loki can only give her the ability to understand languages he’s fluent in; not languages he understands due to magic, and he doesn’t really speak French or Hindi apparently. But even without translation, Amy catches the word “Chicago” a few tables away uttered in somber tones and her stomach clenches. She puts down her steaming cup of chai tea. She still hasn’t checked her email.

  “We should go back to the hotel,” says Loki. They’re sitting next to each other at the table and Amy turns her head to face him.

  Finishing off some sticky sweet balls of galub jamon, Loki licks his fingers and gives her a wink.

  “I want to see a little bit more of the city.” She’s in Paris and has no idea if she’ll ever be here again...maybe she could check her email at a kiosk.

  Giving her a smirk, Loki says, “Why? It’s quite dull lately. No plague filling the streets with bodies, no guillotine, no Nazis marching beneath the Arc De Triomphe...”

  “Well, it’s exciting to me,” says Amy, her breath quickening. She wants to go back to the hotel...and yet she doesn’t. It’s a little frightening, whatever they have. She feels like she’s losing herself.

  Dropping a hand to her knee Loki whispers. “Compromise, Amy.” The hand darts up her thigh, ghostly soft, and back down to her knee again. “I let you pick out this restaurant.”

  Amy shivers and the hand creeps up her thigh again and begins doing interesting, distracting things; for a moment she can’t figure out what he’s talking about. “You were the one who wanted Indian,” she says.

  Tone playful, he says, “Pffftttt...but I would never have picked a vegetarian restaurant.” He drops his lips to her ear. “But you were suffering from vegetarian guilt, so I compromised.” Looking to the window, he adds. “Besides, it’s getting late.”

  Amy gazes out at the dark street, wanting to move his hand, and not wanting to. “Let’s go dancing,” she says. It’s a normal thing people do when it’s ‘late.’

  Loki snorts. “I won’t participate in what passes for dancing in this era.” His nose wrinkles in disgust. “So vulgar.”

  Amy rolls her eyes. For someone who is massaging her thigh in public, Loki has some odd quirks of prudishness. She taps her finger on her tea cup and then opens her eyes wide. “You dance the swing...”

  Loki takes a sip of tea. “...and the waltz, too.” He winks, “I even dance the tango, but I’d only do that at the hotel.”

  Swatting his hand away, she smiles. “This is Paris. They have something for everyone here. We’ll just ask the waiter—” Raising a hand, she gestures for the staff’s attention.

  Loki’s hand slides right back to her thigh and starts making little circles where he really, really, shouldn’t.

  Amy takes a quick breath and glares at him, but it does feel good and no one is looking and—

  “No,” says Amy, picking up his hand. Speaking in a voice too confident to be her own, and fighting a smile, she says, “Dancing first. Then hotel.” She can’t believe she’s having this conversation in a restaurant. She can’t believe she doesn’t really mind.

  Loki squeezes her fingers. “Hotel. Sex. Then dancing.”

  “Dancing now,” says Amy, tipping her chin and trying to take on an air of authority, even though her lips are threatening to pull into a grin. “Sex later.”

  Loki frowns. It’s at that moment that Amy realizes the restaurant has gone quiet.

  The waiter is standing in front of the table. “No dancing,” he says.

  Amy looks up. The waiter’s Indian, and thin; his eyes are wide, his hands are shaking. He looks absolutely petrified with fear. “No dancing,” he says again. Eyes locked on Amy’s, he lets loose a torrent of frantic French.

  Beside her Loki’s mouth drops, and then he starts laughing so hard his head nearly bangs against the table.

  “What is he saying? What is he saying?” Amy whispers, looking around at the restaurant patrons all staring at her.

  Biting his lip, as though he’ll burst out laughing again at any moment, Loki says, “He says that you should take me back to the hotel and have sex with me.”

  Amy’s face reddens. She looks around the restaurant. Everyone is staring at her and Loki.

  The waiter says something in French again. He starts bowing and holding his hands together like he’s making a prayer.

  “He begs you to do it,” Loki says, the laughter in his voice fading fast.

  Amy’s eyes slide to Loki. He is staring at the waiter, his brow furrowed. And then it hits her. “Loki,” she whispers. “You’ve gone blue again.”

  Around the restaurant there are screams as little bursts of flame flare up everywhere.

  “Please!” says the waiter in English, yelling to be heard above the din. Sweat glistens on his brow.

  “Amy, I can hear them,” Loki says, his voice a hiss.

/>   “Hear who?” says Amy.

  Voice ragged, he says, “I have to get out of here.”

  Standing up, Loki reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Throwing it on the table he says, “Pay them. I’ll meet you outside.” He walks quickly from the restaurant, little fires flaring up in the food, table cloths, and clothes in his wake.

  Amy swallows and opens the wallet.

  “No!” says the waiter holding up his hands. “No! Please! Just no dancing!”

  Amy stares at him for only a moment, then she stands from her chair and bolts to the door. As she does she passes a picture on the wall—a picture of a blue god.

  Outside she finds Loki pacing, ginger haired again. He grabs her arm and starts pulling her down the street. “They’re in my head. Why are they in my head?” His voice is thick and desperate.

  He’s not really asking her, but she answers anyway. “Because they think you’re Shiva, and when Shiva dances...”

  Dropping her arm, Loki stops and stares at her. “What?”

  Loki knows so much, why doesn’t he know this?

  “When Shiva dances the world ends,” she whispers.

  Loki takes a long breath.

  Amy gives him a small smile she hopes is wry. “Sometimes Shiva’s wife...” She looks away embarrassed with the comparison. “Sometimes she would distract him from ending the world with sex.”

  Amy glances up. Loki is staring down in her direction, but she doesn’t feel like he’s really seeing her. He’s got the small white book in his hand, and he’s idly rifling the corner. It’s the same book that Lopt and Laugaz had. Lopt who in human myths was Loki. And Laugaz, ‘blazing one’—she’d bet that’s another one of Loki’s pseudonyms, too.

  She looks back at the restaurant. She doesn’t know much about the Hindu religion, but she knows reincarnation is a Hindu thing. Her mind races right out her mouth. “Are you Shiva, Loki?”

  Tilting his head, Loki narrows his gaze at her. He huffs a deep breath, and slips the book into his pocket. “No I....” And then his mouth falls but no sound comes out. Dropping his head, he puts his face in his hands.

  “It’s okay if you are,” she says quickly. “He’s not actually a bad guy...I mean, I think the Hindu’s think he’s a pretty good guy...”

  Loki snorts. “You’ve seen me dance with your grandmother. The world did not end.”

  Amy’s brow furrows. “But you did light some candles... and in Nordic myths you caused earthquakes when you were in the cave, and you end the world when you escape—”

  Raising his head, he glares at her. “I didn’t cause earthquakes while I was in the cave, Amy. And I’ve been out for quite some time. The world has not ended.”

  “Oh. But you were there...” Tied to rocks, with snake venom dripping on his face. “I’m sorry.”

  He tilts his head and rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t as bad as your myths implied.”

  Amy lets out a breath. “You told me once it was for 200 years.”

  Loki sighs. “Not so long for someone who has lived a millenia.”

  Amy keeps going. “You went there for killing Baldur, but Thor said that Hothur killed Baldur, and even if you helped, Thor said Baldur deserved it!”

  Loki’s head snaps in her direction. “Thor said that?”

  Amy nods.

  Shaking his head, Loki looks away. For a long moment he is quiet. And then he says, “Do you feel like walking?”

  For a heartbeat Amy stands stock still. She is overwhelmed, completely over her head.

  ...but Loki is in even deeper than she is, isn’t he?

  “Sure,” she says, slipping her arm into his. He doesn’t pull away.

  In a tired voice he says, “In some ways, Amy, my time in the cave was the best experience of my life.” His mouth twists. “And I’m not sure....I may have even deserved it.”

  Amy swallows. “What happened?”

  Loki chuckles. “I got very drunk and went to a party.”

  x x x x

  Loki awakes to the feel of cold stone beneath his cheek and the taste of vomit in his mouth.

  “You’re awake,” Sigyn says, her voice cracking slightly.

  Loki brings a hand to his eyes and moans. “Help me get to the bed.”

  “We’re in the tower, Loki!” Sigyn snaps.

  Loki opens his eyes and looks around. He is surrounded by gray flagstone. To one side is a metal door. There is an unlit torch on one wall. Shivering, he concentrates and tries to set it aflame. Nothing happens and he curses. Of course, the tower blocks his magic.

  “I told you not to leave last night!” says Sigyn.

  Loki turns to his wife. She is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her face is uncharacteristically streaked by tears. Sigyn never cries.

  “What happened?” Loki says.

  “You don’t remember?” says Sigyn

  Groaning, Loki lifts himself up onto his elbows as events of the night before slowly return to him. Everyone in court except Loki and Sigyn had been invited to Aegir’s hall for a feast. Loki is blamed by the court for Baldur’s death, even if Heimdall declares Loki was not near the battlefield when Hothur made the killing blow. Thor says Loki should make a point to ‘shed manly tears’ when Baldur’s name is mentioned, but Loki couldn’t even manage that at the funeral. Neither could Sigyn, but she wore a veil. Thor cried; but he says it was out of sympathy for Frigga and Odin, not for Baldur.

  Loki scowls. Thor didn’t go to the feast either; he’d come to Loki and Sigyn’s home instead, claiming Sigyn’s cooking was better and the company better, too...which was true on both counts. The three of them had eaten and drunk and then just after midnight Thor had left. Loki remembers getting in a brief shouting match with Sigyn, and then calling Fenrir to his side and going to Aegir’s hall.

  Pulling himself up into sitting position, Loki almost gags. Collecting himself he says, “After leaving the house last night everything is a blur.”

  Sigyn straightens, her hands go to her skirts. “Loki. They say you used magic to kill Fimafing.”

  Loki blinks. Fimafing is Aegir’s servant and cook. Loki shakes his his head, his memory slowly returning. “No, no, no, I remember telling him his cooking was so bad he should be shot by a Valkyrie—which is true, you know it—”

  Sigyn shoots him a death glare.

  Holding up his hands, Loki says, quickly, “But I didn’t kill him.” Blinking, Loki looks away. He doesn’t think so, anyway.

  “And Fenrir killed Tyr,” says Sigyn. She swallows. “And then Odin killed Fenrir.”

  Loki’s hand trembles. “Fenrir is dead?” The wolf was like his and Aggie’s second child.

  Sigyn sighs. “Yes, Loki...and he was your wolf, so you can be tried for his actions.”

  Loki swallows. “I seem to recall Tyr threatening to kill me...” He thinks. Sniffing, he says, “Never did like the man.”

  “He did threaten you!” says Sigyn.

  “Well, self defense then,” says Loki. “Or wolf defense. Or something. There must have been witnesses, it will never hold up in the court of the Diar.”

  Jaw tight, Sigyn says, “He threatened you after you insulted everyone in the hall. Including Odin!”

  Loki’s blood goes cold. Then he straightens. “How bad could it have been?”

  Eyes narrowing, Sigyn says, “You accused Sif of adultery.”

  Loki snorts. “True!”

  “And Freyja of sleeping with you.”

  Loki smirks. “Freyja sleeps with everyone—”

  Sigyn narrows her eyes.

  “— and it was before you?” Loki finishes weakly.

  “You accused Odin of being buggered and dressing in women’s clothes...”

  Loki tilts his head. That he accused Odin of being unmanly should terrify him, and it does! And yet, the accusation has a certain ring of truth to it, but he can’t place why.

  “...I can’t even begin to tell you what you accused Njorth of,” Sigyn says.


  Adopting a cavalier attitude despite the chill in his heart, Loki shrugs. “I can guess. The man does enjoy his watersports.”

  “Loki!” shouts Sigyn. “This is serious. To top off the evening, you told everyone you were responsible for Baldur’s death.”

  Grinding his teeth, Loki plays with the fraying edges of his tunic. Part of him wants credit for killing Baldur...No, what he really wants is the world to know what a sham Baldur was, but they don’t, and he hates it.

  Taking a low breath Loki says quietly, “Even Heimdall will attest I wasn’t there on the battlefield with Hothur...and Odin made sure he wasn’t watching me when I answered Hothur and Nanna’s prayers.”

  “But you can be tried for Fimafing’s death,” says Sigyn quietly.

  Loki rubs his eyes. “How exactly did he die?”

  Sigyn sighs. “He had a heart attack.”

  Loki blinks. “But I’m shit with biological magic.” He snorts. “If I could kill a man with a heart attack, I would have given one to Baldur.” He shakes his head. “Fimafing probably gave his last few shares of Idunn’s apples to some giantess or mortal he was trying to impress, I yelled at him, and he had a heart attack.”

  Sigyn sighs. “Loki, they’re calling for you to be imprisoned the length of Fimafing’s life.”

  Loki’s breath catches in his throat. The walls around him seem suddenly to be closing in, the air too thin to breath. He feels heavy, as though a stone has been laid upon his chest. “Surely there is another option?” He whispers.

  Sigyn looks down. “You could accept banishment—but that sentence would extend to all of us—you, me...Nari and Valli,” she finishes quietly.

  Loki lets out a long breath. The prison seems not quite so stifling. There is an option. He thinks of the wide open spaces of Midgard. It is a death sentence, they wouldn’t be entitled to Idunn’s apples; but it would be freedom too.

  Looking away, Sigyn says, “Nari and Valli are waiting to see you. I told them I’d let them in when you woke up.”

  As if on cue, from the door comes Valli’s loud whisper, “He killed Baldur, the Golden and Good, and now the coward’s going to get us all killed!”

  Sigyn is instantly on her feet and heading towards the door of the cell. Loki staggers up behind her.