I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos

by C. Gockel

  The mare stops before the wall by the line of horses towing their wagons. With a whinny she turns towards the stallion driving them. The mare whickers, and the stallion stops in its tracks. Nostrils flaring, Svaðilfari shakes his head, and gives a long bugling neigh of interest.

  With flirty whinny and a playful buck, the mare begins to trot back the way she came. Amy is still dragged along by the dream—but this time the pace feels true, the scene changing at a realistic speed.

  She hears the pounding of hooves and turns her head to see the stallion breaking into a gallop. The mare gives a whinny that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and breaks into a gallop of her own.

  The mare gallops back through the place where Amy first saw her, periodically slowing to give Svaðilfari a chance to catch up. Amy can tell by the low rumbling in his chest that the stallion is becoming increasingly frustrated. After what feels like hours, but Amy is certain is just another trick of the dream, the mare seems to grow tired of the game. Giving a snort of impatience, she gallops towards a line of dark trees.

  Amy blinks, and they are at the tree line. In the distance she hears the thud of hooves—evidently Svaðilfari hasn’t given up. Amy bites her lip; she wants out of this dream.

  Suddenly flattening her ears against her skull, the mare rears up and a harsh, rattling snort of fear reverberates from her chest.

  “Now!” a man shouts.

  Ropes suddenly fly through the air, and shadows of men emerge from the trees. A few of the ropes fall harmlessly to the ground, but one loops around the mare’s neck. The mare skitters backwards but that only makes the noose grow tight. Amy can hear Svaðilfari’s snort of rage, and the pounding of his hooves getting closer.

  “We’ve got her,” says a man. Amy turns to look at him. He has a patch over one eye.

  More men come from out of the trees, and more ropes go around the mare’s neck.

  The mare rears and screams in panic and fury. The whites of her eyes show as she rolls her eyes in Amy’s direction as though begging for help. The stallion’s hooves are now thundering in Amy’s ears.

  Holding her head high, the mare digs her hooves into the ground and pulls against her bonds, knocking a few of her captors to the side in her frenzy.

  “Let her go!” Amy screams to the man with the eye patch.

  Of course the man doesn’t hear Amy. Holding onto the rope, he shouts at the mare. “You deviant. Yes, I know who you are. Hide as a mare and get fucked as a mare!”

  Amy screams. “Loki!” The mare squeals in terror. The man with the rope shouts. “Stop fighting it!” The low rumble of an angry stallion makes Amy turn her head. Just heartbeats away, Svaðilfari is charging forward, nostrils wide, his dark coat flecked with lather.

  “You will stop!” shouts the man with one eye. The mare freezes, as though frozen on a single frame of film. Svaðilfari lunges forward.

  Turning away, Amy throws her body at where she thinks Loki lies. Feeling the curve of his shoulders beneath her hands, she shouts, “Wake up, Loki! Wake up!”

  Invisible hands fall on her shoulders and squeeze tight. She’s shaken so hard her jaw snaps shut, but merciful darkness replaces the golden light of the dream. The sound of rough breathing fills her ears. It takes a moment to realize it isn’t her own.

  As her eyes adjust to the darkness she sees Loki lying on his back, eyes wide open, body shaking, hands still on her shoulders.

  “Loki?” she says.

  He doesn’t respond.

  She closes her eyes. When she first met Loki, she’d teased him about the myth of him turning into a mare and getting impregnated by Svaðilfari. He’d dismissed her so defensively, and she’d laughed. The memory hurts now.

  She can’t bring herself to ask if he’s okay. “Hey, it’s me,” she whispers.

  Without responding, he sits up and wraps her in his arms. Pressing his forehead against hers, he begins to rock them back and forth. Amy puts her arms around his shoulders. She has no idea what to say.

  And then Loki begins to chuckle, low and deep and frightening.

  “Loki?” she whispers.

  He snickers. “Do you know what this means, Amy?”

  That he was probably the mother of Sleipnir after all?

  Snickering again, he says, “I gave my oath to Freyja I would keep the wall from being completed on time and I did.”

  His voice turns low and dangerous. “I kept my oath, even after death.”

  He chuckles, and it’s not a nice sound. Light rises around them from no discernable source. Loki pushes her back, his eyes meeting hers. “I haven’t given my oath to Odin yet, that I will destroy him...” He grins. His black hair has fallen forward over his eyes, equally black. His teeth are very white against his blue skin. “I was afraid, afraid that I wouldn’t succeed, that I’d die first. But now I don’t have to worry about that.”

  Amy takes a breath. “I don’t think—”

  Loki laughs and squeezes her tight. “Odin? Do you hear me! You will kneel before me as all of Asgard burns! I give you my oath!”

  “That was Odin in the dream?” Amy stammers.

  Loki nods against her. And then pushing her back again, Loki meets her eyes. “Don’t worry, I will help your people!” His eyes widen. “Amy, I owe you so much.” Giving her a warm genuine smile, he says, “If you hadn’t woken me, I might not have been able to remember the dream. I might not have known the truth!”

  Amy’s mouth drops. This wasn’t the lesson she’d gotten from this episode.

  Loki’s lips are on hers, and his hand is ghosting its way down her spine. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She wants to melt into him, but she pulls back. “We need to talk to Steve.”

  Loki blinks once and then nods.

  Amy takes a deep breath. “I need to take a shower.”

  “And I need to put on my armor.” He kisses her. “See you in a few minutes.”

  She nods, but it is a long time before she can make herself get up.

  x x x x

  Sitting on his bed, Loki finishes putting on his boots. A light patter of rain is falling against the window. From the living room he sees the faint glow of computer monitors and hears the sound of a newscast.

  He glances over at Laevithin, and then his eyes go to Amy’s purse. He blinks at it and looks towards the ambient glow coming from the living room.

  Tilting his head, he picks up her purse and turns it around in his hand. Opening it, he finds her wallet. Inside is a debit card, not enough money to bother stealing even if he was in the mood, identification, and a picture of Beatrice, Amy and Fenrir. He finds himself smiling at the photo.

  Putting back the wallet, he finds a curious little pink rectangular packet. He opens it. Inside is a package of 28 little plastic slots arranged in a circle, three already consumed. Candy?

  Curious, he squints closely at the barely legible writing on the package: Oral contraceptives. He tilts his head and considers tossing the packet aside. If he’s honest he likes the risk of pregnancy. And then he sneers at himself. He is such a fool—another child he’d be unable to protect. Skin hot, he puts the package back where he found it.

  Looking down he sees one more item in her purse. A set of keys with a whistle attached...not even the snake venom spray she’d hit him with when he first arrived on Earth—a whistle.

  Amy is not as fierce as Sigyn was, even if he was interested in her for something more than a passing...whatever...she is too soft. He would destroy Amy, like he had Anganboða,. His knuckles go white on the strap of Amy’s bag. And Sigyn, too.

  Scowling, he puts the purse down, just as a pink haze begins to form in the room. “You’re back in Chicago!” says Cera.

  Loki raises an eyebrow in greeting.

  “Is it really necessary for you to help her solve the World Gate problem?” Cera asks, floating about Loki’s head.

  No, it isn’t. But he needs to be in Chicago when Cera slips from the Promethean Wire, and Amy isn’t goi
ng to be happy until she checks in—and Loki needs to be with her when she does so she doesn’t accidentally spill the beans about his ability to teleport or the location of his home. It’s a horribly convoluted idea when he thinks about it, but his best usually are.

  Instead of saying that, Loki says, “But helping them will make me a hero.”

  Cera’s mist goes darker. “Ohhhhh....Like Josef was the hero. When the revolution comes it will be so much easier!”

  Loki’s eyebrows go up at the mention of the ‘revolution.’ It’s Cera’s thing. Loki could care less one way or another, and she won’t have much choice in the matter.

  Cera inflates and deflates, and says happily, “With you on my side, I can’t lose!”

  Loki’s mouth drops, and the breath rushes out of his lungs.

  x x x x

  “Couldn’t we have stayed in bed all day?” Loki whines as Sigyn pulls him out of the house. “What good is freedom if I can’t even enjoy my own down mattress? Really, Sigyn, after 200 years of sleeping on a straw mat without the company of my wife...”

  Smirking at him, Sigyn narrows her eyes. In truth, Loki has enjoyed his mattress and the company of his wife many times in the past hundred years or so. But he had to make himself invisible when he did so and disguise Sigyn’s side of the activities...sometimes. He snickers to himself thinking how embarrassed Heimdall would have been if he’d bothered to spy on his wife some of those nights.

  No doubt guessing his thoughts, Sigyn rolls her eyes. But she is smiling. “Hoenir, Mimir and your sons have been planning this feast for the past two decades.” Loki wants to whine some more, but instead finds himself salivating and licking his lips. He’s always had a huge appetite, and since the cave it’s only gotten worse.

  He whines a little bit more as they make their way to Hoenir’s, but it’s just to make Sigyn laugh.

  In the cave, Loki’s understanding and connection to magic had deepened. Before Hoenir’s hut is even in view he can feel the buzz of magic through the trees. As they round the last bend, he has to avert his eyes for a moment—Hoenir’s magic is so bright.

  Because he’s looking away, it’s Sigyn who sees them first. “Odin’s Einherjar guard,” says Sigyn. “And his and Thor’s mounts.”

  Eyes adjusted to the magic, Loki turns to look at his wife.

  Her face is pensive. “They weren’t invited,” she says quietly.

  Loki’s lips twitch. “Well, as long as there is enough food for Thor and me both...” he shrugs and smiles, not wanting to see the end of her good mood.

  Sigyn doesn’t respond. The Einherjar straighten as Sigyn and Loki knock on Hoenir’s door. Hoenir opens it, Mimir mounted on a staff, both of them looking more nervous than happy. As Hoenir closes the door, Odin’s voice booms, “Loki, welcome back!”

  Loki blinks at his first sight of Odin and Thor since his release. Clothing fashions have changed—of course, the buildings and people of Asgard are always changing their adornment. Loki doesn’t recognize this particular clothing style, but it is more gold, silver and silk than he has ever seen. It’s rather out of place in Hoenir’s kitchen.

  “Good to be back,” says Loki with a smirk. He wonders if he is supposed to bow, but there is no court around, and that seems superfluous.

  Odin’s one eye narrows almost imperceptibly, and then he comes forward and claps Loki on the back. Grinning, Thor comes forward and claps him on the other side. Loki almost falls over, but Odin catches him.

  Nari and Valli, finally grown to nearly men, are wearing tight smiles, and their eyes keep darting to the king and prince.

  “Hoenir!” Odin declares. “Put our seats next to the guest of honor!”

  Hoenir’s lips twitch, and Mimir’s eyebrows rise, but Mimir says, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Loki tilts his head. How ridiculously formal.

  When they’re all seated on Hoenir’s rough hewn benches by the table, Loki has to work to keep the mood light—he succeeds. Mostly. But the king’s presence has put everyone but Thor a little off. Loki wouldn’t have expected his boys or Sigyn to be pleased by the king’s presence, but the looks he catches from their eyes seems downright hostile.

  When Thor starts to regale the table about a tussle he got into with a legion of dwarven mercenaries, Loki turns to Odin and says, “So, how are things?”

  Odin looks delighted that Loki has brought it up. Smiling, he gives a dramatic sigh, “Oh, the dwarf merchants are pushing for more autonomy from their king...”

  Loki raises an eyebrow at that. He wasn’t sure why Odin cared so much. The king goes on, “...and Freyja is jostling for political clout...”

  That makes Loki’s eyebrows rise. It was bound to happen someday. Odin and Freyja both have small armies of Einherjar at their disposal. Formerly mortal warriors rescued from death, they are unquestioningly loyal to their ‘saviors.’

  Odin’s voice lowers. “I think she may even be after the throne. Can you imagine, a woman ruling?”

  This would be the time to play it safe. But Loki can’t resist. Shrugging, he says, “I don’t know, I hear the witch Gullveig has done a decent job in Jotunheim’s Iron Wood.”

  Sigyn starts coughing; the rest of the table falls silent.

  Odin glares at Loki. With a smirk, Loki says, “What? Haven’t you heard of the mortal expression devil’s advocate?” Loki has to suppress a laugh at his cleverness at that—the mortals have been drawing him with horns since the Christians entered Europe.

  Odin snorts. “You’re my devil, alright.” And then he grins and claps Loki on the back. “But with you on my side, I can’t fail.”

  x x x x

  In headquarters, Steve’s earpiece beeps. He ignores it and focuses on the fireman in front of him. Over the din of the situation room, the man says, “It’s possible we could use our hoses to fire on the flying things and trolls while buildings are evacuated.”

  The beeping of Steve’s earpiece stops. Beside him, he hears Bryant’s beeping faintly.

  Nodding at the fireman, Steve says, “That would free up police from evacuation duty. Talk to Hernandez, he’s coordinating the pick ups.”

  The man walks away and Steve’s just about to tap his earpiece and listen to his messages when Bryant shouts, “It’s Brett! He sees Loki and Lewis in the building where he detected the World Gate!”

  There is a hush in the immediate vicinity around Steve.

  Behind him he hears Mayor Ronnie’s voice. “Isn’t Loki the ass who set up my nephew and is responsible for this shit?”

  When did the mayor get here? Steve turns to see the mayor, police chief and Jameson directly behind him. His jaw twitches. Just when he was starting to get things under control...

  Taking a step forward, Steve holds up his hands. “It hasn’t been proven that Loki—”

  “Yes,” says Jameson.

  “No!” says Steve.

  Mayor Ronnie looks between Steve and Jameson only once and then turns to the police chief. “I want a SWAT team there right now! Bring them both in!”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Jameson says.

  “You need a warrant,” Steve says, trying to stall for time.

  “Like Hell,” says Ronnie. “He is a fucking alien, a terrorist, and we are defending this city. This isn’t a game of cops and robbers.”

  “Sir, I don’t think that is a good idea,” Bryant says. “Loki is extremely dangerous and—”

  “Yes, he plays with fire, we’ve all read the reports,” says Jameson. “Fortunately it’s just started to rain.”

  “I don’t think...” says Bryant.

  “Give me your earpiece and your phone, Agent, I want to speak to your brother,” says Jameson.

  Giving Steve a wary look, Bryant hands them over.

  “Jameson, Chief, you’re with me,” says Mayor Ronnie. Steve doesn’t miss the way they look past him. His jaw tightens as they walk away. Beside him, Bryant says, “Sir...this is not good.”

  Steve doesn’t answe
r. Instead he turns to the room at large and says, “Where is Thor?”

  A police woman manning phones stands up. “He’s on the north side chasing down the manticores with officers Drake and—”

  “Get your officers on the line,” Steve shouts. “I need Thor now!”

  x x x x

  Amy is sitting at his desk, her face lit by the computer monitor when Loki walks into the living room. He’s not anxious for the meeting with ADUO to happen, so he heads to the kitchen, saying, “I’m just going to eat a little more.”

  “Of course,” says Amy, eyes flicking to him and back to the screen. “Load up and be ready to teleport. Just in case someone’s an idiot.”

  Loki settles on the counter with what’s left of his stores and munches away while the news blasts over Amy’s shoulder on the computer screen. It’s mostly about how many reporters have been killed, the number of confirmed civilian casualties, and how many people have been displaced. Nothing particularly useful.

  He’s just opened a protein bar when Amy switches to something else, some sort of entertainment coverage. “I need a break from the real news,” she sighs. “This looks interesting.”

  Grainy black and white film footage of a stylized prison starts to play on the screen. Raucous music blares from the speakers. There is a man in the footage who is vaguely familiar. He’s prancing on his toes and wiggling his hips.

  Loki snorts. “Look at that man, he’s having sex with a ghost.”

  A voiceover begins, “In honor of what would have been the king’s upcoming birthday in a few months’ time...”

  Amy hits the mute button and spins in Loki’s chair. “That is Elvis. He is part of my culture, as is his music, and the dancing is tame.”

  “Dancing?” says Loki. “It looks to me more like he’s giving the audience a middle finger salute with his whole body. And I wouldn’t call that music.”

  Amy blinks at him, and then dropping her voice to a poor imitation of a man’s says, “Hey, you kids, get off my lawn!”

  Loki stares at her.

  Rolling her eyes, she says in her normal voice. “That’s something we say when someone is being an old fogey.”