by C. Gockel
“Eep,” Amy says as she is released by the slackening branches and slips down his waist. Catching her with one arm, he wraps his opposite hand around the branch that held his wrist, and they slide down into the hard-packed snow. There are a few Frost Giants lying prone on the street, moans audible over the shouts of the SEALs. A few fires are flaring here and there in the branches and wood piles. Fortunately, the thatch roofs are covered in snow.
He hears Steve’s voice buzzing in his ear, ordering the team to use their shovels to pile snow on the fires.
“I have to get to those people,” Amy says. “They’re injured!”
Bohdi doesn’t want her to go to them. He heard what the mob had tried to do to Bjorna and Cannonball. Let them suffer. But Amy pushes against his arms and he lets her go. She sprints to the nearest man on the ground.
Bohdi stays away. Taking out his standard-issue folding shovel, he goes over to help Berry put out a fire on someone’s wood pile. Not even looking up at him, Berry says, “Nice throw earlier. The first firework landed right between us and the mob.”
“That was Amy,” says Bohdi.
“Lewis? Really?” says Berry.
Patting the snow down on the smoking wood, Bohdi looks over to where Amy is bent over a Frost Giant, checking the man’s pulse. Her cheeks are pink in the cold, and her eyes seem especially bright blue next to the snow. It makes her look ten years younger and even more fragile than she is. He remembers her throwing a pillow at him the morning before they left Chicago. She’d missed. But her throw today had been perfect—death or dismemberment by fireworks had been a real possibility for a few minutes there, but nobody had been hurt.
Dropping her fingers from the man’s neck, Amy meets Bohdi’s and Berry’s eyes. “I played softball for a couple years as a kid.” Tapping her headpiece, she says, “Grandma, could you bring out my kit?”
Beatrice’s voice cracks in his ear. “Was just getting it, dear!”
Berry tips his helmet. “We could start a softball team!” His ruddy cheeks stretch in a grin.
Piling snow on a smoldering fire nearby, in a shape that looks suspiciously like a dragon, Redman laughs. “We could call ourselves the Giants!”
“Beatrice used to play catcher for me when I practiced pitching,” says Amy.
Berry chuckles. “We’ll call ourselves the Grannies, and play against the Frost Giants, whip their asses, and make them feel really bad.”
Bohdi finds himself smiling, despite himself, and then he hears a woman scream in Jotunn, “Get away from him! Get away from him!”
Spinning, Bohdi sees a Frost Giantess brandishing a large stick and bolting in Amy’s direction. In a few quick steps, Bohdi hops over the injured man, throws up his shovel and intercepts the woman’s makeshift club with his shovel handle just before it cracks into Amy’s skull. Redman and Berry are there a moment later, each grabbing one of the strange woman’s arms and pushing her back.
“Get away from him!” the woman screams again in Jotunn.
“Tell her to calm down,” says Berry. The stoic warrant officer still struggles with the local language.
Skin heating, Bohdi gestures to Amy and snaps in Jotunn,“She’s helping him!”
“Stay away from him! Keep your evil magic away!” the woman wails.
Bohdi huffs in exasperation. What would Steve say to get through to this lunatic? To win someone over you have to understand them, to understand you have to study them … Bohdi runs his eyes over the woman. She looks like she’s in her mid-fifties or so. Her cheeks and eye sockets are sunken in, and her white hair, where it peeks beneath a rough scarf, is thin. She’s wearing mittens with holes in them and cloth instead of leather clothing. An animal skin is thrown over her shoulders, and she’s a little shorter than Heiðr’s warriors.
The woman breaks into tears. “Please, don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” She sinks to her knees, bawls and bows to Amy and Bohdi. Bohdi’s eyes go to the man in the snow. He has a fat red nose that looks like it’s swollen from alcohol. Like the woman, his cheeks are hollow, his clothing too thin for the weather.
“I’m going to try and help him,” Amy says, in the woman’s language. “He has a concussion, and I think a broken ankle, and a few of his ribs may be broken.”
The woman doesn’t answer; she just curls in on herself. “We have two grandbabies to raise, how will I feed them? How will I manage? He can’t die, he can’t leave me!”
Bohdi feels himself go slightly nauseous.
“He’s not going to die,” Amy says. “But I think it would be better if we got him inside so he can get warm.” She gestures with her head back to the inn.
Wailing, the woman throws herself over the body of the man. “No, don’t take him in there, not where the dwarves will get him! They’ll poison him, they’ll kill him, no, no, no!” Amy’s jaw drops as she leans back and her eyes meet Bohdi’s. He shakes his head; he has no idea what to do. He shivers, feeling the cold worm between his layers and tickling his spine.
Berry’s hand falls on his shoulder. “Let’s leave them,” he says.
“But …” says Amy.
“Do they have people that help with this sort of thing?” the older man asks.
Amy nods.
“Let them take care of him. I don’t know the language, but I know we’re terrifying this woman,” Berry says.
Amy bites her lip and shakily stands. Beatrice materializes at her shoulder with her med kit. Amy takes her grandmother’s hand a little too forcefully, like she’s holding onto Beatrice for dear life. “Thanks, Grandma, I’ll just go …”
Looking out over the road, Amy’s voice drifts off. Bohdi follows her gaze. Frost Giants are dragging the fallen away.
Beatrice sighs and rubs Amy’s arm. “We’ll find the head of these people, and we’ll offer your help … but if they don’t take the offer, there’s nothing we can do.”
Beatrice’s eyes go to Bohdi. “Nice move, summoning magic to have the branches hoist you up.”
That might be the nicest thing Beatrice has ever said to him. Massaging the back of his neck, Bohdi ducks his head. Would she think that way if she knew the way he summoned magic was by wanting to destroy, and how much he’d wanted to smash in the Fire Giants’ heads? He looks away quickly. He has to let Steve teach him how to meditate; if it worked for Loki, it has to work for him. His vision blurs slightly. Hadn’t Shiva, the Hindu incarnation of Chaos, spent time on a mountain top as an ascetic? All ascetics do is meditate. Of course, at the time, Shiva had ignored his wife … his eyes go to Amy. Her lips are as pink as her cheeks, and Bohdi’s body warms, remembering the night before. He can’t ignore her.
Steve’s voice rises from down the street, snapping him back to their literally cold reality. “Patel, Lewis, I need your expertise.”
Amy’s eyes meet Bohdi’s, and in unison they look to where Steve is standing just outside Gem’s inn between Sigyn and Larson, rubbing his jaw and scowling. Heiðr and some Frost Giant warriors are walking away.
Bohdi meets Amy’s eyes again. They both shrug and start walking toward Steve.
When they get close enough not to shout, Amy says, “Do you know why the refugees are here?”
Crossing his arms, Steve huffs, and a cloud of frost rises in front of his nose. “Apparently, the rank-and-file are less enthusiastic about Ragnarok than Heiðr and her warriors.”
Bohdi frowns. “They think Ragnarok is happening because we’re here? How fast can news travel without television, telephones, or the internet?” He lifts an eyebrow at Amy. “Do they have some sort of SSBS?”
Her lips purse. “SSBS?”
“What?” says Steve, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer.
Grinning, Bohdi winks. “Smoke signal broadcasting system.”
Amy snickers but Steve’s expression goes perfectly flat in his patented, don’t waste my time look. A muscle jumps in Larson’s jaw and Sigyn sighs.
Crossing his arms, Steve says, “The earthquake, the
strange behavior of the trees the past two nights—”
“The trees were crazy last night too?” Bohdi asks.
“Yes,” says Sigyn.
Bohdi’s eyes slide to Amy. Biting her lip, she meets his gaze and her cheeks go a shade pinker. Come to think of it, when they had been making out, he’d thought it sounded windy outside, and the inn was creaky. He winks at her.
Clearing his throat, Steve says, “Those signs are what made them think Ragnarok is coming. When they found us here, that was just further confirmation of the end of the world to them.”
“Oh, great,” says Bohdi.
“Ragnarok is the end of gods,” Amy says. “Not the end of the world.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. “Also, a new World Gate opened in the sea arch.”
“A new gate?” says Amy. “Not an old gate?”
Steve sighs. “Yes, a new gate. Do either of you have any idea how that could happen? I know it happens in Chicago all the time, but I thought that was the aftereffects of Cera lingering in the timeline.”
Bohdi says, “Yes, that’s right,” and Amy nods. Magic had a funny non-linear relationship to time, and Cera was basically just a ball of raw magical power. Even years later, Cera’s influence still lingers in the city, and gates are created spontaneously.
Amy puts a hand to her mouth. “That is really very rare, for a gate to emerge spontaneously on its own … except in Chicago.” She looks to Bohdi.
“It could still be Cera,” Bohdi says.
“I guess you’re right,” Amy says.
“Explain,” says Steve.
“Well,” Amy says, “You know how World Gates appeared with the greatest frequency in places right next to where Cera was but sometimes they opened farther away?”
Steve nods.
Bohdi finishes for Amy. “Jotunheim is just another farther-away spot.”
Steve frowns. “Jotunheim is realms away. As I understand it, that means solar systems, if not galaxies away.”
“Which makes it improbable, but not impossible,” says Bohdi, beginning to have a bad feeling.
Steve’s eyes go to Amy. “Dr. Lewis, is it possible that the gate was created on purpose?”
Amy looks at the snow. “The only beings I know who could create a gate are Odin, Hoenir, and probably the Norns … though I suppose there could be more.”
“Loki?” Steve asks.
Not looking up, Amy shakes her head. “No, he could travel through gates, and destroy gates, but not create them.” Her voice gets a little distant. “I think maybe they are in their own way living things … ”
“Do you think it was the Norns?” asks Bohdi. His eyes shift to the trees, half-expecting Ratatoskr, their foul-mouthed squirrel minion, to poke his twitchy little nose out.
Amy taps her lip. “It could be … but why would the Norns open a gate in the middle of the ocean? They send Ratatoskr through their gates, and I don’t think he’d be able to swim that far.” She crosses her arms. “If it leads to Nornheim it has to be theirs, but if it leads anywhere else, it was either natural or someone else’s doing. The Norns’ power comes from the Columns of Fate; without them nearby, they aren’t strong enough to create new gates.”
“Do you think it was Odin?” says Steve.
Amy scowls. “If it was him, wouldn’t we be having company about now?”
Remembering his time in Asgard, Bohdi says, “Creating World Gates is really difficult for Odin. He had to give over the throne to Frigga after he opened a gate to save us from the Norns. I don’t think he’d do it unless he had to.” Bohdi glances around. “And it’s not like he’d create a gate just to spy—from all accounts he already has spies here. And creating a big obvious World Gate would be counterproductive for spying.”
Steve nods, and then he looks to Amy. “Do you think it could be Hoenir?”
Rubbing her forehead, Amy takes a step back. “I … maybe …”
Bohdi scowls. “Wouldn’t he contact us if he opened the gate? He is a friend of Sigyn’s and Loki’s sons, right?”
Steve’s eyes shift to Bohdi. “He’s also a friend of Loki, and Thor suspects Loki’s here.”
Bohdi shrugs at Steve’s code-speak. No one claiming to be the Creator has contacted him.
Amy murmurs quietly, “In the myths and memories they were always together … Loki kind of thought of him as his mom. Hoenir was lover to Lopt and Laugaz ...”
Bohdi shakes his head. “Hoenir was also a friend of Sigyn, Nari, and Valli, right? And he has a magical house with gates to everywhere?”
Nodding, Amy winces.
“Well, if it was Hoenir,” Bohdi says, “Wouldn’t we be on our way home?” He frowns. “It’s more likely it’s just random chance.” He pats his pocket for his lighter—even though it’s empty, he still has the desire to flick it. Random chance … Chaos.
“I have a headache,” Amy says. Her face is pinched and he wants to reach out to her but doesn’t. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to play the Marine in front of everyone else, even if he isn’t. He scowls at Steve. Their fearless leader doesn’t meet his gaze; he’s focused on Amy, face grim.
“Do you want an Advil?” Beatrice says, dropping the med-kit to the ground and opening it. Bohdi didn’t even realize she’d been nearby … Why hadn’t he thought of offering an Advil?
From the shanties surrounding them, a wail rises in Jotunn, “He’s dead, he’s dead!”
Bohdi’s shoulders fall. Chaos brings destruction without even trying, and that’s something meditation won’t solve.
Chapter 20
The hallway of the inn is empty in the early morning, but the ladder to the attic is open, and Bohdi hears Gem humming above. He can hear the SEALs’ voices in their various rooms as they get ready for the day. He slips as quietly to the stairs as he can. After the incident, the team relocated to the inn. Compared to the glove, the tent, and the little shanty Heiðr had prepared for them, the inn feels luxurious … but there is still no privacy. Bohdi reaches the bottom of the stairs and finds the common rooms empty. He smells eggs, roast meat, and what passes for bread. His mouth waters, but he hungers for more than food. Flicking his now-empty lighter absently, he walks over to the bookshelves. Even if he could read Black Dwarf, it’s too dark in the room to see. The little glow globe on the desk has gone out. The globes are lit by thumb-size bioluminescent beetles from Svartálfaheim, not magic, and occasionally they die, literally. The shutters on the windows are still closed. Even if they were open, the small windows wouldn’t let in much light. Gem’s usual clientele are Black Dwarves, and they are creatures of caverns who like the world dim. They clear out during the winter months and only return in the spring. He brushes back his bangs, and hears light footsteps on the stairs.
Turning around, he finds Amy on the last step. Without hesitation he closes the space between them, wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her. She’s not wearing her bulky outer gear, and he can feel every inch of her from her lips to her hips.
A creak sounds on the stairs, and they break apart. He sees Amy bite her lip as she turns away from him.
Jung emerges at the bottom of the stairs. Grunting, Jung gives them a half-hearted wave and disappears into the kitchen. Bohdi knows they haven’t been seen but …
Sneaking up behind Amy and dropping his hands around her waist, he whispers, “He knows; everyone knows we’re together.” Kissing the back of her neck, he lets his hands drift upwards. “Why bother hiding?”
“Because Steve asked us to keep it quiet for morale reasons.” She brings her hands up to his but doesn’t move his hands lower, just pushes herself tighter against him. It’s agony … and he likes it.
They hear footsteps above and break apart again. Amy looks up at the creaking ceiling. “Steve …” They freeze for a moment, but no one comes down the stairs. Bohdi hears Steve’s voice rumbling above but can’t make out the words.
Turning back to Bohdi, Amy puts a hand to her mouth and meets his eyes, looking slightly g
uilty. “He asked me if I was pregnant yesterday.”
Bohdi sucks in a breath. She was sick yesterday morning. She said it was nothing to worry about … and he knew she wasn’t lying. She said it was “just her body adjusting.” She hadn’t said to what, but promised to tell him later. And then Bohdi had been sent out on “mesa patrol.” When he came back, she’d been off helping deliver some baby goats and hadn’t gotten back until late in the night. He shakes his head in irritation. “Did you tell him short of immaculate conception that’s not possible?”
They haven’t slept together in the figurative sense. Bohdi’s not that much of an idiot. He knows telling Amy, “Don’t worry, the Norns say I shoot blanks,” isn’t going to make her worry less about unplanned pregnancy. They have done lots of other things though, which kind of makes it okay, except he wishes they could sleep together in the literal sense. When the whole team moved into Gem’s inn, Amy lost her private room. He’d like to wake up next to her again.
Amy huffs. “I should have. Neither of us meets the prerequisites for immaculate conception.”
Bohdi lifts an eyebrow and his lips quirk. “I don’t know … unicorns like you.”
Wincing, Amy scrunches her eyes shut like she’s in pain, but he sees the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. Bohdi pushes her backward until the back of her thighs hit the desk. She slides onto it automatically, and Bohdi pushes her legs apart, steps between them and wraps his arms around her. Above, the noise grows louder.
His stomach constricts. “I guess I should have asked you if you were feeling better before I ambushed you?”
“I would have dodged you if I wasn’t.”
“I figured.” He kisses the top of her head again. “You are better, right?”
“Yes, I just …”
Above their heads doors slam, and a stampede of footsteps head for the stairs. With a sigh, Bohdi takes a few steps back. Amy’s lip trembles. “I miss you,” she says. “I mean … I wish we had more time together and …”
Bohdi’s stomach ties up in all sorts of funny knots. He’s not sure if he’s happy or sad that the team reaches the bottom of the stairs before he can respond.