Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI (Loki Vowed Asgard Would Burn)

by C. Gockel

  He felt, rather than saw, the Allfather turn his head. “It behooves the strong to watch over the weak, so someday they may be strong.” Looking to the sky, Odin chuckled. “As for you being trouble, well, it’s a luxury for a peasant to attend a feast. It is a luxury for a king to sit in the grass and look at the stars. Were it not for you, and the mischief of your magic, I wouldn’t be here. It is a beautiful night.”

  Loki wrapped his arms around his twig-like legs. Odin wasn’t lying. Odin had said on numerous occasions that Loki made him laugh. He thought it might be his job, so he struggled for something witty to say. At last, he said, “I guess it was helpful of me to discover the fire trap.”

  Odin looked down at Loki. “Loki, the trap was your own. You created the fire.”

  Loki blinked up at him, jaw going slack.

  Dropping a hand to Loki’s shoulders, Odin whispered, “You have the magic of the stars within you, boy.” Odin took a deep breath. “It is a privilege to raise you.”

  And once more Loki was overcome by truth. Not knowing what to say, he lifted his head to the heavens. He looked up at the billions of stars, blazing in the black. Mimir and Hoenir had been telling him that his magic was like flame since … well, since he can remember. But then something occured to him. “Your magic is like the space between the stars—and all the magic in the black that holds the universe together.” He looked over at Odin.

  The Allfather was still surveying the sky, starlight twinkling on his single eye.

  “It’s because you hold everything together, isn’t it?” Loki whispered.

  Pulling Loki closer to him, Odin looked down and winked at him. “I try.”

  Amy’s breath catches. She looks around at the mist continuing to sweep out over the dais and onto the plain. Where it hovers, everyone still remains stuck in time, even Valkyries hovering in the air. Where warriors lay wounded they do not moan, they do not bleed, and they do not die … and she is not afraid. It strikes her that blackness and its association with evil is a cultural phenomenon. Odin’s magic, without his body, is not evil or good; it is, like Loki said, the stuff that holds the universe together.

  But if Odin’s magic is leaving his body, that must mean … she crawls forward on her knees. Odin’s eye is open, blood is pooling beneath his head. For the first time, she notices that the front of his helmet is dented, as though it has been punched from the inside. Amy gasps. For the first time, it sinks in—Odin is dead.

  She falls back on her heels. She feels relief, and tears well in the corners of her eyes. For all he had done that was terrible, the dead man in front of her had also been Loki’s friend, his mentor— for all intents and purposes, his father. And every word Odin spoke about the strong protecting the weak, he believed. Odin wanted to be good. She swallows, thinking of Rind, the Frost Giantess he’d raped after Baldur died so that he could have a new, powerful son … she thinks of herself, and his plans for her. She feels like throwing up and like crying at the same time.

  In the silence of the magical stillness she hears a footstep. Wiping her eyes, she looks up, expecting to see Bohdi. Instead, her eyes meet one of Steve’s; the eye on his left side is swollen shut, crusted, and weeping. Bohdi is leaning against him, the stitches in his neck bright blue against his blood-stained skin. One of his arms is wrapped around Steve’s shoulder as though he is drunk; where his hand touches Steve, Steve’s shirt is ripped. Amy’s mind connects the pieces of the picture. Bohdi was still too injured to save her, so he’d used Steve to fire the weapon that killed the Allfather. Amy’s eyes go back to Steve. She can see his Devil Dog tattoo that looks like a wolf. She gulps, remembering in the myths that Fenrir killed Odin … but it didn’t happen that way … the myths got the wrong wolf.

  “Dr. Lewis,” says Steve.

  “Amy,” Bohdi says, stumbling toward her, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Jumping to her feet, she catches him and presses her lips to his. His lips are like lead, unmoving, and still a little too cool. She wills him to be better, wills the nerves in his lips to send a cascade of magic through his traumatized body and mind. For a moment he doesn’t respond, but then she feels his hands flutter up to her cheeks. He pulls away, but then he puts his lips to her forehead, just the way he had when he’d kissed her in the tent, after she’d told him about the magic virus. She feels heat where his lips and fingers touch her skin. When he draws away, it’s too quick. “Beatrice is hurt,” he says. “She tried to save you.”

  “It will be okay, time still hasn’t sped up,” she whispers. The wounded and the dead are all in stasis, they’ll be safe, but she remembers Steve’s painfully swollen eye. “Maybe I should help Steve …”

  They both turn to Steve. He’s staring at them, slack-jawed. For a moment, Amy thinks he’s frozen in time, too. But then she sees his chest, rising and falling too quickly.

  “Steve?” Bohdi says, and they both step toward him as one.

  Before they reach him, he falls to his knees. The mist slinks past Amy and Bohdi and swirls slowly around Steve, as though he is a dark star. Putting his hands to his head, Steve screams.

  x x x x

  Bohdi stands above Steve in shock. Amy sinks beside his friend—and Bohdi would, too—but he’s afraid he might make whatever it is worse.

  Sweat is glistening on Steve’s brow, and he’s shivering. Around them the mist is shrinking inward, condensing around Steve. In its wake the Einherjar and Valkyrie begin to move. Not knowing what to do, Bohdi picks up Laevithin. As he does, magic leaps through his body. He feels like he could fly, like he could slip through the bonds of time and space, or set the world on fire … he takes a breath, smells soot in the air, and realizes the world is already burning. Instead of testing Laevithin’s magic, he stands guard over Steve and Amy, glaring out at the human statues on the plain.

  Amy reaches a hand tentatively toward Steve, and Bohdi’s friend stares down at it, brow furrowed and lips parted in a look of pure horror.

  “I remember, Lewis … what he saw … what he wanted. I am … so … sorry,” He clutches his stomach like he might throw up. Bohdi shivers, not because Steve is lying, but because he’s telling the truth, and it’s frightening. Steve doesn’t do horrified or nervous. Steve is calm and collected … cunning.

  Bohdi hears the clink of armor; he looks up in alarm. Around the dais Einherjar and Valkyries are all falling to one knee, placing hands over their hearts and bowing their heads. Bohdi spins and sees Rush, standing next to a felled Fenrir; the dog is on her side and he can’t tell if she is breathing. Her fur is stained red; Mr. Squeakers is mournfully cheeping on one of her ears. Rush is pointing his M4 at an adze. Bohdi would lunge off the dais and hew the creature in half, but he’s not sure he’s seeing right because the adze is wearing clothing.

  “I don’t like the way you’re looking at the dog,” Rush says to the winged man.

  Buzzing his wings, the adze replies, “I know better than to eat pets.” Licking his lips and giving Fenrir one last glance, he turns toward the dais. His eyes fall on Laevithin, and then to Amy, but he doesn’t fly forward.

  Bohdi decides he’ll get that story later. A few steps away from Fenrir, Park is spread out on the ground next to Thomas. Both of their eyes are open to the sky. Lying next to them are Sigyn and the elf from Bohdi’s visions while he was dead. Farther off, Cruz and Gerðr are standing over Larson’s body. Gerðr’s bracelets and cap are off, but at this distance the Frost Giantess doesn’t make Bohdi weak-kneed with desire. Although her eyes are red with tears, and her face is stained with dirt and grime, she still looks beautiful. Berry is standing over Redman. He meets Bohdi’s eyes, and Bohdi sees confusion there. “Hold your fire,” Bohdi says, and the stoic warrant officer nods. Closer to the dais are a few Fire Giants, in bits of stolen armor, still frozen in the black mist, and Claire and Sleipnir.

  As soon as the black cloud shrinks away from her, Claire jumps off Sleipnir, runs to the dais, and leaps up without bothering to take the stairs. Sleipnir whinnies at Boh
di and tosses his head.

  “Dad,” Claire cries, running to her father. She falls to her knees and tries to hug him, but he doesn’t respond; the dark mist continues to flow into his body. Beyond the platform, Sleipnir dances sideways, and to Bohdi’s untrained eye, he looks very nervous.

  “I am the Preserver …” Steve says, “but I’m not ...” He puts his face in his hands.

  Bohdi smells smoke, burnt wood, and burnt hair. Above the walls of the Center he sees smoke rising in every direction. He looks down at Steve, still on his knees, his shirt ripped so Bohdi could touch his skin and keep him moving while Odin stopped the world. The black mist still flows, and Steve is trembling and sweating. On the plain no one moves or makes a sound.

  Somewhere beyond the Center, someone screams in terror, and Bohdi hears the sound of plasma fire, and more cries of panic. He remembers his vision of the Fire Giants flooding the streets while he was out of his body. Bohdi’s chest tightens, and he swallows, looking at the smoke rising from the city. He fulfilled Loki’s oath to have Asgard burn while Odin kneeled before him … and it’s terrible.

  “I’m not Odin,” Steve says, his voice cracking.

  And Bohdi remembers his horror on first realizing he was the embodiment of the man who destroyed so much of Chicago, who killed so many good people, and he understands. He holds out a hand to Steve. “I know,” Bohdi says.

  Steve looks up at him with a look that is so full of gratitude it hurts.

  “I know, too,” Amy whispers, putting a hand to her mouth.

  And then Claire cries, “We all know!” Her voice is filled with all the assurance and blind faith of a child.

  Steve doesn’t say anything; he just pulls Claire to him and drops his head into her hair. And then he finally takes Bohdi’s hand, and Claire, Amy, and Bohdi help him to his feet. Steve’s lips part, and he frowns as he takes in the decimated SEAL team, and then he looks in the other direction at the Asgardian warriors and gapes.

  Bohdi clears his throat. “I think that’s for you.”

  “It is,” says Steve. The barest, tiniest bit of a smile flits across Steve’s lips—and then it’s gone. “Let’s clean this mess up,” Steve says. There is such power and command behind his words that Bohdi expects to see his single eye glowing purple, but Steve’s eye remains black.

  Chapter 38

  Amy hovers over her grandmother. In one hand she holds Laevithin, the other she presses to Beatrice’s chest. Beatrice isn’t dead, only unconscious; because she wasn’t dead or in pain, Amy saved her for last. She can feel the damage caused by the plasma fire: beneath her hand is melted skin and muscle, and a fractured bone. Even though she’s not touching Beatrice’s forehead, she can feel the magic matter in Beatrice’s mind working to restore an area of her brain where a tiny piece of errant bone, detached from her rib cage, has caused a stroke.

  At Beatrice’s head, Fenrir whines. On the dog’s ear, Squeakers cheeps. Bohdi stands behind Amy, a silent sentry.

  Amy wills the bones, muscle, and skin beneath her hands to mend and feeds the power of Laevithin to Beatrice’s magic matter. It is only a few minutes before Beatrice’s eyes flutter open, and Amy isn’t even breathless. With the sword in her hands, and without Odin sharing its power, she thinks she could raise an army from the dead or open a World Gate as large as the Center beneath the army’s feet.

  “Amy,” Beatrice whispers.

  Amy bites her lip. “Hi, Grandma,” she says, glad to have Beatrice back from another stroke. She wonders if it is a bit of age that hadn’t quite been fixed the first time. A thought occurs to her. “Grandma … I just made you better.” She looks down at the sword. “I could make you young, too.”

  The creases in Beatrice’s brow deepen. She pats Amy’s hand. “Let me think on that one. Looking old and helpless has been damn convenient.” And then she frowns. “But keep that ability a secret, child. It’s dangerous.” She smiles at Amy again, beatific and grandmotherly.

  Amy feels a lump in her throat. She reaches into her pocket, and feels the prick of the Star of David on her fingers. She pulls it out. “I could have saved Brill … Ruger, Mills, Beckman, Licht, and Harrison, too.” Her face crumples—people she hardly knew, and now she’ll never know. If only she’d broken Hoenir’s spell sooner … She opens her palm and looks down at the star.

  Bohdi puts his hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, it’s Odin’s.”

  Reaching up, Beatrice closes Amy’s fingers around the star. “You might have been captured—Tucker might have told Odin who you were—and he might have attempted to get you first.” Her grandmother sighs. “And thinking back on it; I think Brill at least knew that you couldn’t be allowed to fall into Odin’s hands.” Beatrice’s eyes flit up to Bohdi. “I think Brill knew what you both were; he wanted to die so he wouldn’t put your lives at risk.”

  Amy remembers Brill yanking his hand away from her and reaching to Bohdi. She bows her head and feels Bohdi’s hand tighten on her shoulder. She’s not sure if Beatrice’s words make her feel better or worse.

  “You got my girl back,” Amy’s grandmother says. Amy lifts her gaze to see Beatrice giving Bohdi the same beatific look she just gave her.

  Amy turns to look up at him. His face is backlit and dark, but the twine she used to sew up his neck is a shimmery blue. It looks like he’s wearing a lacey blue choker. “I did have help,” he says, rubbing her shoulder.

  Beatrice sits up. “What’s happened while I was out?”

  Standing, and extending a hand, Amy says, “Bohdi helped Steve kill Odin, and now Steve is the incarnation of Order, or the Preserver, or … well …”

  “The new Odin,” says Beatrice as they turn to toward the dais. On the dais, Steve stands surveying a map of the city, surrounded by the team from Earth, commanders from the Einherjar and Valkyries, the lone elf, and the Fire Giants. They stand in a sunbeam streaming through a break in storm clouds overhead. A gentle rain is falling outside of the Center, courtesy of Claire. At her father’s request she’d left the Center with Sleipnir to try and put out the fires raging in the city.

  “He’s not Odin,” Amy says quickly.

  At that moment, Sleipnir rematerializes near the dais, Claire at his side. Steve nods at his daughter and at the horse. There are a few covert glances among the Valkyries and the Einherjar. Their obedience may be absolute, but apparently their minds can question the Preserver’s judgment.

  Beside Amy, Bohdi says, “He already declared that Sleipnir is a free horse, with all the rights of a full citizen.”

  Amy’s mouth tightens to a thin line. Some of the Asgardian commanders had advised strenuously against it.

  “It’s very tactical to be aligned with one of the most powerful beings in the Nine Realms,” says Beatrice. Amy opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Beatrice says, “But also the right thing—they are not mutually exclusive.”

  Amy’s hands tighten on Laevithin. But what will happen when the right thing and the tactical thing aren’t in alignment?

  As they climb the stairs of the dais, Amy’s eyes sweep to Steve. The one side of his face is no longer swollen, but his eye is still injured and covered by a bandage. When she’d suggested creating a new one for him, he’d said that other people’s injuries were more important. The revived Sigyn is at his side, next to the lone elf. She remembers the elf from her time in Asgard. He was the steward that led Loki to the queen. When she’d revived him, he’d looked directly at Steve and said, “You have his magic.” The elf had swallowed and said, “Do you know who I am?”

  Steve had replied enigmatically. “Yes, I know, and you are not my enemy.”

  And that had been that. Far off in the city, she hears plasma fire. Valkyries are scouting for intelligence; some troops have already been sent off to quell known skirmishes. She hears one of the Valkyrie commanders say, “The most difficult uprising to put down will be the one led by Valli Lokison.”

  “We need Nari,” Steve says. He lifts
his eyes from the map and looks to Amy.

  She is about to say he is in Jotunheim, when from the direction of the palace comes the staccato clips of gunfire. Berry lifts his head. “M4 rounds,” he says.

  They hear rawking sounds above their heads, and Huginn and Muninn drop from the sky. “Master, master,” croaks one of the birds, landing on the ground at Steve’s feet. “There are Frost Giants in the palace! And humans! The queen is in danger!”

  The other bird rawks, “In the throne room! In the throne room!”

  “We’ll leave at once!” say the Valkyries.

  “No!” Steve says, “You will save the city, we will save the Queen.” He turns to Bohdi. “You’ve been to the throne room?”

  Bohdi puts a hand through his bangs. “Yes.”

  “Lewis,” Steve commands. “Give Bohdi Laevithin. He is the master of the In Between—he can take us there.”

  Amy hands the sword to Bohdi. He takes it with one hand and runs his fingers nervously through his bangs again with the other. “I don’t know if I can …” and then he disappears with a soft ‘pop’ and a rush of air.

  “What the …?” says Berry.

  The elf shakes his head. “Chaos thinks only of —”

  There is another pop, and Bohdi is back. He points the blade at the ground and uses his free hand to take Amy’s. “We have to hurry! Everyone grab on … ”

  And then as many of the team as will fit put their hands atop the pommel.

  Claire says, “Maybe Sleipnir and I will walk.”

  “I’ll fly,” says Daevas, narrowing his eyes at Amy, and then he takes off. She still hasn’t helped him with his “problem.”

  Bohdi says, “No one hold your nose, you’ll explode in the vacuum.”

  Someone says, “Wha—”