by C. Gockel
Leaning against a panting Fenrir, Rush stammers. “What the … What did you do?”
Amy smiles down at the root and wipes her hands together, very pleased with herself. She isn’t tired at all. She really has to thank Brett and Bryant for packing those bullets with magic.
Daevas explains for her. “The tree that grabbed the bullet devoured the magic holding the World Gate open, thereby closing it. The gate still exists, but unless the trees blocking it are destroyed, the gate cannot be reopened as they would devour the magic used to do so. Of course, if the tree were destroyed, and then someone were to reopen the gate, other trees would be drawn to the magic. A substantial amount of trees would have to be destroyed for it to be used. Unless the forces of the Frost Giants withdraw from the Iron Wood, that is unlikely to happen.”
A voice familiar to Amy says, “Oh, that is a very good explanation.”
Rush turns, clutches his stomach and screams, falling backward on his butt as he does so and giving Amy a clear view of the rather crowded room they all now occupy.
“What the … ?” the SEAL mutters a string of obscenities.
“That is Mimir,” Amy says. They are in Hoenir’s kitchen, and the head is propped on the counter as Hoenir sits at the kitchen table. For his part, Hoenir looks like he’s frozen in place. His eyebrows are hiked up, and he holds a tea cup in front of his lips.
Taking a step forward, Amy says, “We need to talk.”
The teacup slips from Hoenir’s fingers and shatters on the table.
Chapter 31
The icy wind coming off the water makes Bohdi pull his muffler higher. He loses his grip on his oar. Behind him Larson barks, “Patel!” Grabbing the oar again, Bohdi ducks his head against the wind, shivers and rows, shivers and rows ...
Bohdi thinks the fishing boat they are on looks vaguely Vikingish. Made of rust-colored iron wood, it’s a little over seven feet wide and a few body widths long. There are dragon faces carved on the front and back. There isn’t a cabin, and right now there is no sail, just an iron wood sapling they’ve lashed to the single mast. On either side, they’ve lashed other saplings. The boat would normally look sort of elegant, but with the added tree branches it looks like a floating bush.
“Heave-ho!” says Thor, managing his own oar on the opposite side of the boat.
Larson clears his throat. “Not so much, Thor, you’re setting us off course.”
“Ah, yes,” Thor says. “Too bad the little Valkyrie isn’t here. She can match my strength.”
“Rub it in,” says Berry, and Redman chuckles.
“Try and use your magic, everyone,” Larson says.
Leaning into the next stroke, Redman says, “Let me just get out my pixie dust.”
Thor sits up straight, releasing his hold on the oar. “You have pixie dust?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Valli cries.
“Throw it out of the boat, quickly!” shouts Gerðr, swooping down from the sky on her Harpy wings.
There is a moment of complete silence, and then Bohdi starts laughing so hard the oar slips from his hands, bumps up, and bonks him in the forehead. Rubbing his temple, he keeps laughing, as every other human on the boat joins in.
“Just a joke,” Park chokes out.
“How can you joke about something so awful?” Valli declares, sounding absolutely scandalized.
Larson makes a coughing noise. “Everyone, back to it.”
Bohdi groans but grabs hold of his oar and leans in. And then from the mast comes Gerðr’s voice, “Something approaches below the water!”
Before Larson can issue any commands, Thor stands from his bench. Pulling out his hammer, he says, “It is Jörmungandr.”
“The beast is big enough to swallow the boat whole,” Gerðr gasps.
Thor strides toward the prow. “Aye, but a blow from Mjolnir to a weak spot will fell him.”
Bohdi’s eyes go wide, remembering his mythology. “Wait! Thor!” he cries, springing from his seat. “Jörmungandr, he’s a son of one of Loki’s incarnations. I might be able to reason with him.”
Thor looks at him slack-jawed, but Larson says, “If he can swallow us whole, I hope you can.”
Shakily going to the prow, Bohdi looks over and sees a dark shape beneath the crystal clear waters a few hundred meters away. Behind him he hears Larson shout, “All stop.”
Bohdi turns sharply to him.
The lieutenant shrugs. “Might be threatening to him.”
Bohdi looks at the rapidly-approaching shadow beneath the water. It’s as wide as a road. “Uh … no, we don’t threaten him.”
Leaning over the prow, Bohdi shouts, “Heya, Jörmungandr!” He winces. That was probably the lamest diplomatic opening ever. The shadow slows, though. Bohdi blinks. Could this actually work?
The looming shadow beneath the waves draws up toward the surface about twenty feet from the prow of the boat. “Jesus,” says Larson, and Bohdi jumps at the sound of his voice.
“Jesus would be helpful now. I never could manage walking on water,” Thor says, with a sigh.
Bohdi’s eyes get wide and meet Larson’s. Shaking his head, the lieutenant mouths the words, don’t ask.
There is the sound of rushing water. Bohdi looks out into the sea. An enormous scaly head is emerging from the waves. Had he thought Nidhogg was big? Jörmungandr is enormous. The huge creature is green, covered by scales that vary in size from dish plate to garbage can lid. It has an oddly high, humanish forehead, but its compact-car sized eyes are set further to the side. It has whiskers on either side of its snout as long and as thick as a man’s body. Its mouth ...
“Yep, big enough to swallow the boat,” Larson whispers. “Good luck, kid.”
Bohdi clears his throat. Wrapping a hand around a carving of a wooden dragon, he leans over the edge. “Uhmm … Hi, Jörmungandr, we haven’t been introduced.”
The great mouth opens, revealing teeth as tall as a man and draped in huge hunks of seaweed.
Bohdi and Larson draw back, but Thor silently stands his ground.
“We don’t need an introduction,” the great beast rumbles. “You are Bohdi Patel, latest incarnation of the Destroyer.”
The circuits in Bohdi’s brain blink off for a moment.
“Say something,” Larson says, nudging him in the back.
“Errr … you say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Bohdi.
Larson groans. Jörmungandr bobs his head and makes a gurgling noise, creating waves that splash against the boat, creating an icy spray, and a gust of wind that bears with it the distinct smell of rotten fish.
Placing his hands over his chest, Bohdi says, “But I’m not evil! Really—”
Jörmungandr’s immense head stops bobbing. “Of course not! I was laughing, tiny two-leg.”
“Oh …” Sensing hope, Bohdi brightens. “So maybe you wonder why I am out on this boat—”
“Not really,” Jörmungandr says.
“You know why I’m on the boat?” Bohdi asks.
“I do not know, but my master’s orders are to kill all aboard except you and to bring you to Asgard,” Jörmungandr rumbles. “Fulfilling those orders is my primary concern.”
For a moment, Bohdi is blinded by panic. And then several circuits in Bohdi’s brain light up. “It may be your primary concern, but you’re talking to me instead of eating my friends.”
Behind him someone whispers, “Don’t rush him, Patel!”
The great head draws back. Bohdi swears the giant beast frowns. “During your last incarnation, we did not get much time together. Odin forbade it.” He draws closer. “But there have been lives where you have transversed worlds on my back and explored the deepest corners of the seas in a bubble in my maw.”
Bohdi’s feet feel light. That sounds stinky, but cool, and he knows Amy would love it. She might even forgive him for leaving her behind if he proposed a makeup date under the sea.
“I have missed you,” Jörmungandr rumbles, in a voice as mo
urnful as the rattling of an empty train car at 2 a.m.
Bohdi feels a lump in his throat. “Oh, Big Guy, we could do that again.”
“If Odin allows it,” Jörmungandr rumbles.
“What does Odin have to do with anything?” Bohdi says, ire sneaking into his voice.
Jörmungandr draws back, as though Bohdi has struck him … if that was even conceivable. “When you are not in the service of Order, you bring only death.”
Bohdi’s jaw gets tight. “Odin kidnapped my friend, and it’s Odin, not me, bringing a lot of death to my world right now.”
The great sea monster huffs. “Tiny suffering compared to what humans bring upon themselves and their seas.” Pulling closer, he turns his head to look at Bohdi through a single eye, and says, “He would clean your waters, your lands, your air, and send your rubbish to feed your star.”
“I will not be Odin’s servant,” Bohdi hisses, his mittened fists tightening.
“You will,” Jörmungandr replies. “You may rather rule in hell than serve in Heaven, but it is inevitable.”
Bohdi starts to see red coloring the edges of his vision. “Did you just compare me to Lucifer?” Somewhere in his brain it registers that he must have received one hell of an education to catch the reference.
“You are the antagonist,” Jörmungandr says.
“I am the Transformer!” Bohdi roars, leaning so far from the boat he almost falls in. Thor catches him by the back of his coat and pulls him back onto the boat. Regaining his feet, Bohdi tries to keep his hands from shaking.
Jörmungandr snorts—or sighs—making waves hit the prow of the boat. “I must return to my mission.”
Before Bohdi knows what’s happening, Jörmungandr lunges forward, mouth wide. Bohdi hears gunfire as though it comes from far away. He backs up on instinct—but he isn’t fast enough. Jörmungandr’s gaping maw is above him and surrounding the entire prow of the boat. The boat lifts, and the air is suddenly warm, and the smell of rotten fish invades his nostrils. Before Jörmungandr’s jaws can snap shut, capture Bohdi, and break the boat in half, Thor lifts Bohdi by the waist and hauls him backward, shouting at Larson. “Run, Lieutenant!”
Over Thor’s shoulder, Bohdi sees Jörmungandr snort angrily and then withdraw. The boat slides backward, like a theme park log ride. Thor puts Bohdi down but keeps a firm hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. Scanning the seas, he says, “You tried, it was more than I would have done.” He meets Bohdi’s eyes. “Please do the same for my people in Asgard.”
Bohdi nods absently. “Of course.” Still shaking, more with rage than with fear, he says, “What do we do now?”
Patting his shoulder, Thor says, “Stand here and be the bait, Mr. Patel, but do not fear, I will protect you.”
Bohdi blinks up at the big lug. Bohdi isn’t afraid. Thor is here, and they’ve only known each other for a short while, but whenever Thor’s around, things tend to work out. He pats the big guy’s hand. “Sure … you know, you can call me Bohdi?”
Thor’s whole face lights up, and he grins so happily Bohdi feels embarrassed. Catching Bohdi in a back-breaking, hug-headlock, Thor turns to the team. As Bohdi sputters, the big man roars, “On my word, start rowing! Whatever happens, make your way to the World Gate!”
At the rudder, Larson says, “We’ll do it.”
“Let me go, I can’t breathe!” Bohdi chokes, trying to pry Thor’s hamhock-sized arm off his neck.
Patting his head, Thor says. “Always joking. I’ve missed you, too.”
“I can’t feel my feet!” Bohdi sputters.
“What’s going on?” Park says, looking over the edge of the boat.
Thor instantly lets Bohdi go. As Bohdi grabs his neck and gasps for air, Thor says, “Jörmungandr can’t let Mr. Patel fall into the water. The risk of hypothermia is too great.”
“How thoughtful,” Bohdi coughs.
Thor chuckles. “The beast will try to catch Mr. Patel in his maw, and then he will coil around the boat and crush it.”
“Oh, good,” someone says.
Soaring above the boat, Gerðr shouts, “He’s off the starboard bow!”
“Row forward, men!” Thor bellows. And then to Bohdi he whispers, “Remember, no matter what, the hero always finds Chaos.”
Bohd blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Thor smiles, all warm and friendly, like they’re out fishing instead of being fished by a giant sea serpent. “It was good to have met you, Bohdi!”
“He’s rising!” Gerðr calls. Bohdi hears the sound of rushing water to the right.
Thor turns to the sound, raising his hammer. Bohdi sees Jörmungandr’s head rising out of the sea and takes a step back. Thor runs forward. The big man leaps, lands lightly on the bow just as Jörmungandr opens his mouth. Bohdi expects lightning to flash from Thor’s hammer … instead the big man leaps again and lands squarely in the giant creature’s gaping maw.
Bohdi’s jaw drops, and then running forward, he screams, “No, Thor!”
Thor’s hammer sparks, and maybe on instinct, or as a reflex to the shock, the sea monster’s jaws snap shut around the big man, lightning sparking along his snout. The sea beneath the boat roils, and the boat slides down a mountain of water toward the World Gate.
“Row!” screams Larson.
“No!” Bohdi shouts, leaning over the edge of the boat, frigid spray hitting him in the face. Jörmungandr shakes his head violently and disappears with Thor beneath the now roiling sea. The boat tips, and Bohdi almost falls in, but hands grab him. He turns to find himself facing Valli. “Uncle knows what he’s doing!” Valli says, as a wave cracks over the stern.
Icy cold water hits Bohdi in the face as another wave hits them from the side.
“We have to move before we capsize!” someone shouts.
“But Thor!” Bohdi shouts, as cold water sloshes over his feet. Fear takes over, and with something between a curse and a sob, he picks up a bucket and starts bailing for all he’s worth. The boat lurches forward, the roiling waves pushing them forward faster than they could ever row. They’ll reach the sea arch too soon for Thor to escape. Teeth chattering, Bohdi dumps a bucket over the edge. Pausing for an instant, he sees coils the size of hillocks rising from the water, and briefly thinks he sees Jörmungandr’s whiskers encased in lightning. If there is lightning, there is Thor, alive, and still fighting.
From where she has been helping Larson with the rudder, Gerðr jumps into the sky, wings pumping madly. Hovering in the air below the arch, she takes off her Promethean wire cap—and for a moment—she is a shining star above blue waters. Bohdi drops his bucket. The men drop their oars—except for Cruz. He and Sigyn row for all they are worth. Over the roar of the waves, Bohdi hears a cry of a gull that sounds creepily human. The boat lurches forward with the force of a giant wave, there is rainbow light and ...
He blinks. Gerðr puts her cap on and drops into the boat. Bohdi finds himself staring out at a misty, eerily calm, deathly quiet sea. The air is suddenly warm and damp, but Bohdi shivers. The only sound is the mad chattering of his teeth. From the prow, Valli says in a leaden voice, “Welcome to Hel.”
x x x x
For a moment Amy stands transfixed. Hoenir’s even thinner than Loki was; there’s something about the way he sits, legs crossed, shoulders slightly slouched, that is feminine. He has wide green eyes, sharp cheekbones accented with the barest hint of stubble, and his hair is dark and long. He’s wearing blue jeans, sneakers, and …
“I used to have a t-shirt like that,” Amy whispers. Hoenir’s t-shirt features a cartoony cat and says in an Old West font, Schrodinger’s Cat Wanted Dead and Alive.
Hoenir shrugs. “I saw you wearing it in my teacup, liked it, and got one for myself.” His voice isn’t high or low; it’s smooth and cultured, slightly British.
Amy’s lips purse. Her eyes fall to a book in his opposite hand. Amy blinks at the title: Jane Austen Game Theorist.
Hoenir sets the book down carefully. “I wasn’t
expecting you back so soon,” he says.
His eyes scan the crowd and linger on Fenrir and even longer on Daevas. “You’ve been busy, Amy,” Hoenir whispers. The adze flutters his wings, and his hands form fists.
On the counter, Mimir sputters at Amy. “You were supposed to find your way here after a lifetime of quiet contemplation and meditation, after you discovered you weren’t aging or dying!”
“Yeah, well, my generation is very impatient,” Amy says, her eyes on Hoenir.
Closing her eyes, she remembers the first and only other time she’s been in this hut. It was just after Loki died. In Loki’s apartment, Amy had stood clutching Ratatoskr to her stomach, one hand pressed to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. Her body had itched with morphine, her eyes burned with tears. It was too much. Loki was selfish, and selfless, and she loved him. “Remember for me,” he had said. He was coming back, and even though she knew it was for himself, she wanted to believe it was partly for her. She began to sob—her wracking body tore her stitches, and pain needled through her morphine haze.
Ratatoskr chittered a few choice words about getting his fur bloody. She didn’t care.
And then she heard a knock, not from the hallway, but from the wall. Sniffling, she wiped her nose.
“Whoa, fuck damn … that is some powerful magic,” Ratatoskr chittered. In the smooth white plaster of the wall a door of rough hewn wood appeared. With a creak it swung open, and Beatrice stood silhouetted in the frame, a pink flowered umbrella in her hand. “Amy,” Beatrice said, stepping into Loki’s apartment and stretching out her arms. “We have to go. The FBI will be here soon.”
The last time Amy had seen Beatrice, her grandmother hadn’t remembered her or Loki. There was only one explanation. Amy ran into her grandmother’s outstretched arms, squishing Ratatoskr slightly. “We’re dead, aren’t we?” Amy sniffed.