by C. Gockel
Downstairs, Gerðr says, “He isn’t Loki …” and Amy is thrust back to another encounter the previous incarnation of Chaos had with the Giantess.
x x x x
Loki sits in a chair by the hearth in Anganboða’s Hall. The “hall” is actually a cottage that he won in a wager from Odin years ago. His first wife had lovingly repaired it before she died. Now paint peels on the walls, and the roof needs mending. It’s also dark and chilly, but Loki doesn’t feel like turning on the lights or even lighting the hearth. Sigyn hasn’t come back to him. He is too ashamed of himself to go to her. She was right. Odin, since the beginning probably, had been out for Gullveig’s blood. When Loki couldn’t provide legal means to do so, the Allfather went around the law. Odin couldn’t allow something magnificent to exist beyond his control.
Thor says it could have been a misunderstanding. Why go through all the trouble to obey the laws just to break them? Thor is a fool. As Loki was—or maybe is.
Loki’s hand moves idly to the low table beside him—his drink sits there—some Alfheim wine. But his fingers encounter Lothur’s journal instead. He rifles the pages, not looking at it. Sigyn hasn’t left Asgard, she hasn’t run off to join the Frost Giants, and she’s no better than he is. He should point that out to her next time he sees her. His jaw clenches, and he reaches for the wine, downing it in a single swallow. If he sees her ... She is rarely at court, and he rarely sees Nari and Valli either.
A knock sounds at his door, and for a moment he feels hope. But it dies quickly. It wouldn’t be like Sigyn to come here, and he’s not sure he’d want her to. He’s alone, and drunk, and just sober enough to know how pathetic he is. He tries to make an apparition appear outside his front door, and it winds up at his back door instead.
Rolling his eyes, he pushes out of his chair and walks to the foyer, the world swimming around him pleasantly. There is another knock, and he opens it just as his would-be-guest is in mid rap. Her jaw and his fall simultaneously.
His visitor is wearing a long cloak that all but hides her face and completely conceals her body. It takes a heartbeat for Loki to recognize her. “Gerðr.” Loki leans on the door frame. “What are you doing here?”
Anganboða’s Hall sits in the parklands beyond Odin’s own abode, close to Hoenir’s hut. Gerðr looks back through the parklands, and then she raises her hands and waves. Loki feels a prickle, like electricity in the air before a lightning strikes, but softer, and almost pleasant. He raises an eyebrow. Gerðr is blurring Heimdall’s sight—he will know she was here, but their conversations will be indistinct. He had no idea she had that capability.
Whatever would she want privacy for? He smirks. Other women have availed themselves of his services … He frowns, although it has been quite a long time since bored wives have sought him out. He can’t actually remember when, for quite some time, he’s had troublesome marriages getting in the way. Scowling, he flicks his thumb and feels flame bite his fingers. He shouldn’t lie to himself. He misses his marriages. He shakes his head at his own ridiculousness.
“Loki, I have a proposition for you,” Gerðr says. Oh, he was right. Loki’s magic is strong enough that she can’t compel him to do her bidding like other men. Even tipsy, he isn’t falling to his knees, pledging his eternal love, nor is he plagued by ardor so intense it’s painful, and he’s unable to walk. But he is not completely immune. The bow of her lips is just visible beneath the hood, and they are like the ribbons on an exquisite package, just waiting to be unwrapped. He blinks. Maybe he is a little drunker than he’s owning up to. Or maybe this is just what he needs, a distraction, a way to fill his house with heat and noise, and to replace the smell of old paint with sweat and sex.
Fixing his eyes on her, Loki gives the Frost Giantess a half bow. Licking his lips, he says, “Do come in.”
Gerðr strides past him into the house. Head high, nose upturned—as arrogant as always, as if she hasn’t come begging. But he will be merciful. He’s heard what a boar her ex-husband Freyr is from other women. The comparison makes him almost snicker—in the human stories, Freyr rides a boar.
He enters the house behind her, striding quickly to catch up. Without preamble, he puts his hands on her upper arms. “Let me take your cloak.”
“That is not necessary,” Gerðr says.
Ignoring her, Loki smooths his hands up to her shoulders and removes the garment. He frowns. There is no appreciative shiver. He hangs the cloak on a hook and finds Gerðr’s back to him as she walks through his living room. She wears leather armor; at her belt hangs Freyr’s sword. She turns around, and seeing his eyes on the weapon, she says, “Alimony.”
Approaching her, Loki takes her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he says, “And what was your proposition?”
“To invite you to come to Jotunheim with me!” Gerðr says, as though it should be obvious.
Loki blinks at her. “Whatever for?”
Gerðr’s brow furrows, and Loki takes the liberty to lean forward and kiss it. Taking a step back, Gerðr says, “So that you may join King Utgard and eventually help him overthrow Odin.”
Loki finds himself genuinely amused. “Utgard? Why would I want to support Utgard?”
“Because Odin is killing our people! I know you know the rumors of Gullveig, and I know that you care about what happened to her.”
Loki draws back at mention of Gullveig. His chest tightens, remembering her beautiful city among the trees, and curling up behind her in bed on a lazy winter morning. He can’t meet Gerðr’s eyes. Turning away, he snorts. “Utgard is Odin, without Odin’s power. Odin isn’t the only one who keeps the tribes of Jotunheim unbalanced—I wouldn’t join him—even if I cared about what happens to those pathetic, backward savages in the tribes and pissy kingdoms of your home-world.”
Loki is a Frost Giant, but Jotunheim has never been his home. Odin and Hoenir, both part Frost Giant, lived there longer than he did in their youth, before they expelled the Vanir from Asgard.
Stepping forward, Gerðr grabs his hand. “But you’re wrong; Utgard is not Odin!”
For a moment Loki is rendered speechless by the naiveté of her simple calculus. To her, apparently Utgard is a Frost Giant, and not Odin, and therefore better. He sighs, and his eyes fall to their joined hands. He feels a slow warmth coming over him that has nothing to do with the alcohol and has everything to do with her magic, her delicate feminine fingers on his, and the skin of her cheeks, so pale and luminous, so close to him. Gerðr, as ever, looks ethereal, and he wants to bring her down to earth, to hear her call his name, pull his hair, and rip her nails down his back. His licks his lips and draws her by their joined hands closer still. “You came here to seduce me, so I might join you in Jotunheim?” He pulls her fingers to his lips again and kisses them gently, careful to do so at the juncture of her fingers. “It will work.” At least the seduction part.
Gerðr’s frame tightens, from her shoulders to her fingertips. She stares at him as though his lips are a strange bird that has alighted on her hand.
“Loki, it is not my intention to seduce you.” And that has the ring of truth to it, but he won’t be deterred.
“You know Odin and his secrets, and I thought you might aid your people.”
“I’d really rather aid you,” he says, leaning to whisper in her ear. And Norns, even her ear is seductive.
“You cannot aid me in that way,” she says.
And again Loki hears truth. Her muscles are so tight, her frame so rigid, but those are not things that can’t be undone. “Don’t be so sure,” Loki says.
“I am a free woman,” Gerðr says softly, as though to herself.
“You’re no longer with that dreadful Freyr—now you can enjoy yourself,” Loki agrees.
“I don’t want to sleep with you, Loki, or anyone.” The words are so truthful, they cool Loki’s magically-fueled ardor like a breeze from Jotunheim. Before he can pull away, her palm hits his chest so hard, he nearly falls over. Every candle in the room flickers
to life. The wood in the fireplace roars—as does the wood beside the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” he says, skin heating with embarrassment and anger.
“I am not interested,” Gerðr says. She stands stock still.
Loki scowls. “Well, then why are you here?”
“I told you,” she says.
Loki rolls his eyes. “Gerðr, you know the effect you have on those who enjoy women’s company. If you’re not here to seduce me, why didn’t you send a note? What’s wrong with you?”
Gerðr doesn’t move; she just stands with her fists bunched at her sides.
“I’m not coming with you,” Loki says.
She still doesn’t move.
“Go on, get out,” he hisses.
Her jaw tightens.
“What are you waiting for?” Loki snaps.
Dipping her chin, the Frost Giantess says, “You may be stronger than I am. But I am free now. I will fight to the death.” Her voice trembles as she says it.
Loki snorts in disgust. “I’m not going to force myself on you.” She would think him so pathetic?
Her nostrils flare. Loki steps back out of her way, and she edges around him, keeping her body turned to his the whole time. She doesn’t even bother to take her cloak. After she’s gone, Loki uses the garment to put out the fire next to the hearth, cursing at the soot on the walls and the ceiling. And then he goes to retrieve more wine.
x x x x
Amy puts her face in her hands. How could Loki be so cruel, lack so much empathy? She looks down the stairs. But Gerðr had said he wasn’t the worst of men; for his time and place, his attitude, if not enlightened, was better than Odin or Freyr. It was also better than Skirnir’s behavior—the mage Beatrice had shot when he tried to abduct Gerðr. Skirnir had called Gerðr a whore, and he had assumed that the men of the FBI would be taking advantage of her by virtue of her being a spoil of war.
She puts her head in her hands again and listens. When Tucker tells his story, she hears the rage in Bohdi’s voice. Loki had faced similar incidents in his life, but didn’t get angry about it … she bites her lip, willing herself not to think of Loki’s time in prison on Jotunheim. To Loki torture was just what happened.
She scuffs her toe on the floor. It would make sense that Chaos would be reinvented from one generation to another—hadn’t Order been reinvented over and over again?
The conversation below becomes more muted, and she realizes the team has moved to the kitchen. Giving Squeakers another scratch, she takes him off her shoulder and puts him on the door frame. As he scampers away, she pads down the steps. Beatrice is in the common room. Her grandmother meets Amy’s eyes without comment, but her brow is furrowed, and her arms are crossed. She looks worried.
Amy nods and silently follows the team to the kitchen, but she stays in the hallway. From where she stands she can just see Bohdi’s back as he sits at the kitchen table next to Steve. Bohdi’s gaze is on people across from him, outside of her line of vision. He’s wearing his under-layer shirt, and it hugs the outlines of his back and shoulders. He’s leaning with his elbows on the table, head bent. He doesn’t look depressed … he looks angry … even a little predatory.
Rush huffs. “Respectfully, Sir, I can’t buy all this. I’ve fought him before, and Hadji isn’t some kind of god.”
“Don’t call me Hadji!” Bohdi hisses. The house groans and trembles.
“Bohdi!” Steve says.
Berry’s voice, soft and calm, rises from the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter whether Mr. Patel is the incarnation of Chaos or not. What matters is what Odin believes.” Amy bites her lip. The warrant officer is always so reasonable when talking about these things.
Steve leans forward in his seat. “It doesn’t change anything. We take off to the World Gate to Alfheim’s Dark Lands as soon as spring comes; hopefully this Daevas guy meets up with us before then and gives us some ammo. If we go back, we sound the alarm.”
She hears Bohdi huff and the flick of his lighter. “I shouldn’t go back to Earth.”
There is absolute silence for a moment, and then Steve says, “What?”
Amy can hear the smirk in his voice when Bohdi speaks. “Brett, Bryant, Dale, Laura … they all know about what we’re dealing with, but from our chat with Brett and Bryant we know they haven’t been able to get through to anyone. You’re not just going to waltz through Alfheim, back into Chicago, and have Frey’s evil sister Freyja step down and the head of the FBI resign. You’ll probably have to start some sort of resistance movement.”
There is another uncomfortable silence, and then Berry says, “I would agree with that assessment.”
Steve’s voice rises from the kitchen. “So why shouldn’t you come with us? If the task is impossible, you’ll be what saves us! You’ve saved me before when the odds were impossible.”
Bohdi taps his lighter on the table. “It was Amy who saved you, Steve … And Amy is why I escaped Nornheim and Asgard. Why doesn’t anyone remember that?”
“Pfffftt …” says Rush. “Lewis isn’t a fighter.”
Bohdi’s head whips up, and all the muscles in his back tense. Amy can’t see his eyes, but she swears she can feel him glaring at Rush. Her hands clench at her sides, and it’s a good thing she isn’t magic, because she might set Rush on fire and …
Rush screams, and the house quakes.
“Bohdi!” Steve shouts again.
Slouching back in his seat, Bohdi says, “Sorry, that must have slipped.” But he doesn’t sound sorry at all for whatever just happened.
Park says, “Wow, your hair really lit up, Rush. Using some kind of product?”
Rush doesn’t respond. Amy hears Larson say, “Careful—a lot of us can figure out that trick.”
Bohdi shrugs.
Berry, his voice as calm and dispassionate as before, says, “Why don’t you think you should come back to Earth?”
Bohdi turns in the direction of the voice, and she can see his profile. He looks different from Loki … sort of. It’s like Loki wearing a new face and a new skin, but his frame—lean next to the SEALs and Loki’s sons—that is the same. And his movements ... she’d noticed the resemblance before, hadn’t she? When he’d killed the spiders in their nest and made it look like he was dancing—but then Thor told Odin that Loki was bound to Hel, and all her suspicions had been doused.
When Bohdi speaks, Amy can hear a familiar wry smile in his voice. “Because Odin wants me. So let him chase me, let him try to find me; that way his eyes aren’t on you.”
“But we’ll need you with us,” says Steve.
“I’ll still be on your side,” Bohdi says. “I just won’t be with you.” His head bows. “Odin said the incarnation of Chaos is destined to die in flame. I might as well make it worth it by drawing Odin’s fire.”
Berry comes around to the head of the table; the short warrant officer is the only person in the room that looks proportional next to Gem’s small furniture. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to die in flame with us back home.”
Bohdi shrugs again and doesn’t look at Berry.
Amy’s mouth drops. He’s already made up his mind … she knows not just because of Loki’s memories floating around in her brain, but because it’s what she would do. If Bohdi can’t convince Steve to let him go off on his own, he’ll do it on the sly. But he’ll never make it. Even with the book, he doesn’t know the ways and customs of the Nine Realms. There are things Loki knows that she’s sure Lothur didn’t write down.
She swallows. Is Bohdi trying to draw Odin’s fire to be noble, or for some ulterior motive?
She steps into the kitchen and everyone lifts their heads. Bohdi looks over his shoulder, his eyes meet hers, and he spins in his seat.
“Are you planning to have Odin kneel before you while all of Asgard burns?” she asks.
She’s vaguely aware of Larson snorting, as though to say, “As if he could.”
Bohdi slides out of the ben
ch. He takes a step toward her and then stops, holding up his hands. “I swear, I don’t want that. I don’t want Odin to control Earth; what he does in his own realm is his own business.”
“How can I believe you?” Amy says.
“I didn’t lie to you.”
Amy opens her mouth to protest, and Bohdi holds up a finger. “Never said I wasn’t the incarnation of Chaos.”
Amy’s eyes narrow. “But you did misdirect me.”
Bohdi’s jaw is hard, but his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t say anything. For the first time Amy looks at the other people in the room. Harding is resting her elbows on the table, and has her chin on her hands. She’s looking up at them very expectantly. “Don’t stop,” she whispers.
“It’s like my soaps,” says Berry, putting a hand on Harding’s shoulder. Everyone’s heads spin to the stoic warrant officer, except Bohdi. He’s still looking at Amy, eyes wide, hands now at his side, fingers fidgeting. He’s nervous, but Loki never was nervous about what she thought. Realization begins to dawn on her, terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Maybe he never told her because he really cares about her? If he had told her he was Chaos, then what … would she have treated him as Loki? Would she have slept with him? Or pushed him away? He’d never have known if she loved him, or hated him, or if all he was to her was the embodiment of a ghost.
“You knew before anyone else,” Bohdi says.
Amy lifts her eyes. “That’s not —”
Holding up a finger, Bohdi says, “It’s true. When we were in Nornheim you asked me if I sneezed when I heard lies.”
“You told me I was crazy!” Amy says.
Bohdi raises his hands. “I hadn’t made the connection yet. Amy, not even the Norns were sure; the whole hiding as a human thing threw them off. That’s why they made it so difficult for us to reach them.”
Amy blinks. Thor met with the Norns. “Thor,” she says. “He knows. How did he lie to Odin?”
Bohdi winces. “He didn’t so much tell a lie as tell a metaphor.”