by C. Gockel
The warrant officer’s eyes meet Steve’s. “Is something wrong, Captain?”
“Where is Patel?” Steve says.
Berry’s face visibly reddens. “Not up here. It’s just me and Gem.”
Steve hears a squeak that sounds very much like it’s coming from an embarrassed dwarf.
Berry licks his lips. “I was helping her move some things around—just wanted to keep the ladder out of the way.” Steve’s eyes narrow. Berry had the afternoon off, and Gem is not in his chain of command. Except for the lie, technically he’s done no wrong. But Steve’s annoyed. No, worse, he’s worried. Where are Bohdi and Lewis?
Steve turns to Beatrice and finds her already bolting down the hall. “I’ll get Fenrir and go look for them. Meet you at the cavern.”
Steve struggles to keep calm. He tries mentally chiding himself—it’s the nature of Chaos to slip away—but it’s Bohdi’s nature to come back. And Lewis, at least, is responsible. They’re probably in the mudroom, playing with Amy’s fungi or reading Gullveig’s books. He shivers beneath his gear. He can’t keep the feeling of wrongness away.
“Are they missing?” Berry says, letting the ladder drop.
Steve’s jaw gets hard. “I have no idea.”
Chapter 26
Bohdi has wonderful ideas Amy decides, awakening from a blissfully dream-free doze. She’s curled up against him, her bare limbs tangled with his in the sleeping bags they zipped together. Even through the thick fabric, she can feel the stones beneath them. She doesn’t care. She’s warm and happy, despite everything. Lifting her head, she rubs her eyes and peeks at Bohdi. Like her, he’s wearing a hat and nothing else, the white fabric contrasts with his dark skin, and a single snowflake is suspended in his long black lashes.
She looks around. They’re in the ruins of a guardhouse that was on the second tier of the mesa, or as Claire calls it, “the second level of the wedding cake.” There is a roof above their heads, and three walls, but the northern wall of the guardhouse is a gaping hole. Because the guard house is perched at the very edge of the second tier, or middle wedding cake layer, they have a clear unobstructed view above the tree tops of the forest straight to the sea. Even without binoculars, and the snow, she can make out the sea arch that leads to Niflheim.
Close beside her she hears a mournful cheep. Dropping her gaze, she sees Mr. Squeakers peeking out of a mitten she cast aside. He’s probably cold. Her nose wrinkles in consternation. “You were the one who thought stowing away would be a good idea,” she scolds, but then stretches an arm out into the cold air and puts her muffler on top of the mitten.
She pulls her arm back into the sleeping bags’ pocket of warmth, and Squeakers burrows deeper into his own makeshift sleeping bag. She sees the faint sheen of spider silk and sighs. Her mitten is going to be a sticky nest of spider web.
She feels fingers gliding up her spine and Bohdi’s arm shifting beneath her. “Hey,” he whispers. “Are you alright?”
She turns back to him. His brows are drawn together.
She smiles, and it’s genuine. “Yes. This was a great idea.” Even if they’re out of radio range, they’re not really far away, but the cliff face between them and the top of the mesa blocks reception. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the safest of ideas, but Bohdi can be surprisingly persuasive—or maybe not surprisingly. She bites her lip. The whole Bohdi as an incarnation-of-Chaos thing makes her head spin sometimes.
Bohdi whispers again, “Aren’t you cold?” She looks and finds him smiling mischievously.
She’s about to say no, but realizes that her position has exposed her shoulders. Before she can answer, Bohdi draws himself up and blows gently on her exposed skin. The heat of his breath is unnaturally warm, like sitting next to a radiator. She gasps, and hears branches scratching at the roof, and feels the rocks shifting beneath them. A root cracks through the rubble and twists toward them. Amy draws closer to Bohdi, alarmed.
He chuckles and the root limply sinks to the ground. Amy stares at it. She shouldn’t be surprised that Bohdi was using magic, or be unnerved, but she is. Bohdi is able to harness magic with increasing ease. Something is happening to Bohdi that’s making his magic develop faster. Is it just the magic of chance and Chaos?
“Hey,” he says again, “are you okay?”
Amy meets his gaze. The mischievous smile is gone, the hand on her back is firmer. He frowns. “I haven’t pushed you into a flashback, have I?”
Amy shakes her head quickly. He has done that occasionally—said little things that are so like Loki they made her seize up and not sure where she was. She brings her hand up and threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck beneath the cap. “No, Bohdi,” she says. She feels his muscles relax and his jaw softens. She’s told him everything about her trips to the other universes—about Loki, and about the other Bohdi she’d met there. Sometimes she thinks it was a bad idea; she thinks it’s made him extra worried about being those Lokis.
Trying to change the subject, she says, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Bohdi’s appetite hasn’t grown proportional to his magical ability, which is also weird. The mischievous smile returns. He rolls her over on her back. Hovering over her, he says, “Who needs food when I have you?”
Amy tries to be mad. “It doesn’t work like that!” He’s too warm and feels too good for her to be mad at him.
He hums. “Doesn’t it?” he teases.
She opens her mouth, about to rebuke him, but he puts a finger to her lips. At first she thinks it’s a game, but then she feels his muscles tensing. “Someone’s coming,” he whispers.
She blinks and hears it: voices—still far away, but getting louder.
Before she can process that, Bohdi’s diving into the sleeping bag, retrieving his clothes. He’s dressed in his under-layer and trousers only a few moments later, slinking along the wall, M4 rifle in his hands while Amy retrieves her own gear. A few moments later, she creeps out of the bag and starts packing their gear as quickly and quietly as she can. She casts a furtive glance at Bohdi. He moves with cat-like grace. She’s not sure if it’s inherent in his nature or the result of his training. She doesn’t remember him being as athletic before Steve shipped him off to the Marine Corps. Her brow furrows. Is Chaos inherently deadly, or is it merely a reflection of the society from which it has sprung?
“I can’t see them,” Bohdi huffs softly, peering through his scope. “But I can hear them getting closer.”
“I’m almost done packing our gear,” Amy says. She wishes she could hear them—it could just be some friendly Frost Giant warriors out hunting.
Someone in the approaching party shouts. Amy stops packing. If they could just hear who it is ... She cups her hands to her ears and tries to focus on the sound of their voices but can’t quite make them out. She scowls in frustration. Stupid, limited, human hearing. She starts picturing the enormous neural apparatuses of bats—if only hers was not so paltry. She almost curses aloud, but then she hears the voices as though they’re just a few feet away. She listens for just a few heartbeats and then drops her hands. “Oh, it’s just Thor, and Magi, Modi, Nari, Valli, and Jarnsaxa. They’re talking about hunting.”
“You did not just hear them,” Bohdi says.
“Don’t you hear them?” Amy says. “They’re loud as day now.”
Bohdi squints at her. “Loud as day?”
Standing up, Amy mumbles. “Errr …” She tries to go over to their pack but something catches at her foot. “Hey! The root.”
Bohdi looks down at her foot, and his mouth drops open. “Your magical talent is hearing!”
Amy looks down at the creeping root. Did she use magic to hear Thor and his entourage? Is hearing her talent? That would be … kind of underwhelming. Also, it doesn’t feel right.
Bohdi straightens. “Not quite what I would have expected, but kind of cool.” He grins at her. “Especially if you grow bat ears.”
Amy scowls at him.
“You’d look a
dorable with bat ears,” he says in a low voice. And then it’s impossible to be mad at him, because he says adorable in a tone that says sexy.
The shouting voices of Thor and his friends stop. And then Thor himself bellows, “Who goes there?”
Bohdi turns and shouts, “It’s Amy and me, Thor! Don’t shoot us!”
Amy hears Valli mutter, “Damn, I was hoping I was finally going to shoot something.” She rubs her ears. How can she hear him mutter if she can’t see him? Something tickles her leg, and she looks down to see a root creeping up inside her pant leg—in her haste to get ready she hadn’t tucked it in. “Pervert root,” she grumbles, jerking her leg away. An instant later, Bohdi shoots the tiny tentacle, quickly pulverizing it, and sending little bits of rock and rubble flying. Squeakers squeals in terror, Amy jumps back, and as soon as Bohdi is done, Nari shouts, “Don’t shoot us!”
Bohdi stares at the remains of the root. “I may have overreacted there.”
From outside the guardhouse, Thor roars, “My friend Bohdi Patel is here. Now things will get exciting!”
Bohdi’s eyes lift to hers. “The last time things got exciting with Thor, we were in Nornheim.”
“Adventure awaits!” Thor bellows.
Amy gulps and says, “I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this.”
x x x x
There is absolutely no reason for Steve to have such a bad feeling about Lewis’s and Bohdi’s absence. His jaw gets tight. Except there is good reason—Odin is searching for them both. He wipes his jaw. But they’re safe in the Iron Wood, just as Bohdi said only hours earlier.
Hours—in a few hours Lewis and Patel could have run off to Niflheim or have been dragged off there.
“I’ll help find them,” Berry says, scampering down the ladder.
“I’ll come too,” says Gem, following behind him.
Steve taps his headpiece to alert the team. Nothing happens, although it had been working just moments ago. He scowls. Their electronics are starting to break down. Going into his room, he searches his gear for a charged headpiece. A few minutes later, he’s tapping his new headpiece and heading down the stairs; the whole inn is eerily empty. “Anyone see Lewis and Patel?”
He gets a chorus of nos.
Exiting the front door into swiftly swirling snowflakes, he steps past Tucker on guard there.
“Lewis and Patel are missing?” asks Tucker, sounding as worried as Steve feels.
Steve turns to the man and nods.
Rush’s voice crackles. “Sir, I just remembered, they were going to the cavern.”
Steve almost sighs with relief, but then the voice of Park, on guard at the cavern, crackles over the channel. “I didn’t see them come this way.”
Steve taps his headpiece again. Rush is currently on guard at the rear of the inn. “Rush, when did they leave?”
“I don’t know, Sir. I just heard them discussing it in the hallway.”
“Is that them over there, Sir?” Tucker whispers. Steve turns around and looks out into the square. He takes a step forward automatically, as though that will clear his vision in the snow. He sees nothing—he feels a sting at the back of his neck. He tries to scream, but no words come out of his mouth. Stumbling, he tries to raise his pistol but his hands feel like he’s wearing oven mitts. Somewhere a door slams.
Turning, he sees one shadowy silhouette, and then another … maybe, his vision is blurring … and is that a hypodermic needle? Steve can’t tell. The world is shimmering, as though Steve’s looking at it from underwater. And then everything goes black.
x x x x
Amy steps out of the guard house with Bohdi, walking carefully around the narrow edge between the building and the cliff face. They reach the corner of the building, step onto the wider space of the lower tier of the mesa, and find Thor leading his company out of the forest. Thor’s smiling broadly, but as he draws closer his smile drops. His gaze is so heavy on Bohdi that Amy stops and turns to her … lover, partner, co-conspirator … she doesn’t even know.
“What?” says Bohdi, pushing his bangs underneath his cap.
“You’re practically glowing!” Nari says.
Magi, Modi, and Jarnsaxa stop. Jarnsaxa sighs. “You are right. It’s him.”
“Uncle Loki?” Magi says, tilting his head.
Valli releases a mournful sounding sigh. “He doesn’t remember who he is.”
“I am not Loki!” Bohdi snaps, his hand going to Amy’s back. She can feel the heat of it all the way through her parka.
“Your temperament is very similar,” says Jarnsaxa.
Bohdi screws up his face and sticks out his tongue.
“My mother is a queen!” Modi snarls, raising a cross bow. “You should be shot for your impertinence!”
“He’s your uncle,” Jarnsaxa says. “Hold your fire.”
Glowering, Magi lowers the weapon.
“You weren’t glowing so brightly this morning,” Nari says.
Thor draws closer. “You should not allow yourself to be seen by any Asgardians, even at a distance.”
Amy looks at Bohdi closely. She can’t see any glow around him. And then she looks to the west. The sun is setting. “We had better go back,” she says, picking up her mitten and transferring Mr. Squeakers to her shoulder. He tunnels into the muffler on her parka.
Thor sighs, thunders over, and lays his hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. “We’ll have our adventure, never fear.”
From the mesa proper comes a happy yip. Amy looks up the cliff face and sees Fenrir about forty feet above them, staring down at her and panting. Beatrice’s face emerges next. Amy’s grandmother shakes her head. “There you are.”
“Is something wrong?” Amy says.
Beatrice scowls. “Yes, you’re missing!”
“Not anymore!” Amy says, giving what she hopes is a cheesy, yet irritation-quelling smile.
“Don’t you even try to charm your way out of this,” Beatrice snaps. “Get up here.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Bohdi says beside Amy. “We’ll be up in just a minute.”
Beatrice narrows her eyes at him.
Nari steps toward them. “How were you planning to get back up there? Did you bring some climbing gear? The stairs are about a mile away.”
Amy looks at Bohdi. He shrugs. Hoisting the gear she packed over his shoulder, he steps over to Amy and wraps an arm around her waist. Together they walk over to a large tree that’s just about five feet from the base of the cliff to the mesa proper. This particular tree must be very old, because its peak is about a hundred feet above the top layer of the mesa.
Ducking his head, Bohdi blows at the space just behind her ear. Once more, the air is unnaturally hot. Bohdi keeps blowing, and Amy arches her neck, swearing she can hear snow melting. Branches crack above their heads. A moment later, the tentacles of the trees are squeezing Bohdi’s body tightly to hers and hoisting them up so quickly her teeth snap together. All the breath is squeezed out of her, and Bohdi groans. “Too tight.” As soon as he says it, his concentration must drop, because the bonds weaken, and they both scramble to hang on.
Squeakers gives a chirp. Below, she hears Magi and Modi saying, “He is a deviant!”
“Much like your uncle,” says Jarnsaxa.
“Ah, load-bearing branch just to the right,” Bohdi says. “Let’s swing!”
Amy and Bohdi twist their bodies and swing over to the load-bearing branch. It’s not elegant, but they manage to land on it, untangle themselves from the branches that hoisted them up, and then walk across the bigger branch and around the trunk. Beatrice admonishes them to be careful, and from below, Valli grumbles, “A pair of monkeys.”
Amy can’t help smiling the whole time. It’s fun walking along the tree branches, even in the cold. It’s like being a kid again. Once they round the trunk, Bohdi hops on another branch that extends over to the mesa proper. He walks along it, holding a branch above for stability, and Amy follows along behind.
He stops a few feet al
ong the branch and looks down. The snow covered ground and a scowling Beatrice are just a few feet away. Turning, he smiles, “Ready to jump?”
Amy opens her mouth to speak, but can’t. He looks blue, his orange eyes look black. She blinks—she knows it’s a trick of the twilight on his dark skin. His brow constricts. He opens his mouth to speak … and a boom rocks through the forest, the tree they are in sways, and for an instant, Bohdi’s face is lit by orange flame.
x x x x
The motion stops, and Steve’s face lands in the snow. He can’t breathe. He knows he’s going to suffocate, and there is nothing he can do about it, but his mind is too cloudy to be worried. It’s worse than the paralysis he had experienced after Freyja’s henchmen shot him, but he can’t feel fear. He feels a twinge of pain in his side, his body is shifted to the right, and his head lolls onto the side. He can breathe. He can’t be thankful for it; it’s just an observation.
The ground rocks, his ears ring, and the snow turns orange. “Bohdi …” It takes Steve’s mind a moment to realize that he’s said the kid’s name aloud.
And suddenly his body is being rolled over. He hears a snap in his ear. His radio … is it broken? Someone’s hands grab him by the collar and shake him, but their form is silhouetted by flame and Steve can’t tell who it is.
“Wake up, Steven.”
The words rumble through the darkness. The voice is familiar. Where has Steve heard that voice before?
“Wake up, Steven,” the voice commands again.
His eyelids flutter and he sees a dark blur. He feels pressure on his arms and chest. The blur comes into focus, a Caucasian male, in his late fifties … one eye covered by a metal patch.
“Odin,” Steve whispers. In the periphery of his vision he sees men in armor on either side of him; they must be holding him aloft because Steve can’t be standing on his own power. He can’t feel his feet or fingers, and his whole body feels numb. A panicky part of his brain wonders if his paralysis is back; he silences it.