The Slip: I Bring the Fire 4.5 (A Short Story) Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Slip a Short Story from I Bring the Fire

  Copyright Information

  The I Bring the Fire Series:

  Acknowledgments

  The Slip

  All Stories By C. Gockel & Contact Info

  The Slip

  a Short Story from I Bring the Fire

  C. Gockel

  Published 2015

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © 2015 C. Gockel

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, subject “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below:

  [email protected]

  The I Bring the Fire Series:

  I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves

  Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II

  Chaos: I Bring the Fire Part III

  In the Balance: I Bring the Fire Part 3.5

  Fates: I Bring the Fire Part IV

  The Slip: a Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir's Point of Smell

  Warriors: I Bring the Fire Part V

  Ragnarok: I Bring the Fire Part VI

  The Fire Bringers: a Short Story

  Other Works:

  Murphy's Star a short story about “first” contact

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  Or email me: [email protected]

  Thank you again!

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I want to thank my editor, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Patricia Kirby, who has always been one of my most sharp-eyed content editors. This time she also contributed “horse sense.” I also had a few new editors this time who also helped me keep Sleipnir in character: Laura Concklin, Beth Cruz, and Matthias Beckmann. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth reference. Special thanks go to my mother, Cherryl Crouch, for her red pen.

  I also want to thank all of my readers. Your continued encouragement helped give me the confidence to write this story. Thank you so much!

  Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t encouraged me to stop writing fan fiction and start writing something of my own, this story never would have happened.

  The Slip

  Only a few days have passed since Amy and Bohdi escaped Asgard. Now, she is in Grant Park by Lake Michigan, jogging beside Sleipnir, an eight-legged stallion, child of one of Loki’s former incarnations, and Odin’s former steed. The day is bright and clear, but cold. The ground is half covered in snow, and the park is completely empty of people.

  Amy holds the loop of a dog leash in her hand. The other end is clipped to Gleipnir, the magical, unbreakable halter Sleipnir wears at all times. It compels him to obey; Amy isn’t sure how―but she’s never worked with a horse that’s needed so little prompting to behave.

  On Sleipnir’s back, sitting in a saddle borrowed from the Chicago City Police Department’s mounted patrol, sits Claire, the ten-year-old daughter of Amy’s boss, Steve Rogers.

  Steve would probably kill her if he knew she was letting Claire do this. Sleipnir is the most enormous horse Amy’s ever seen, and during veterinary training she worked with Clydesdales. A fall could break Claire’s neck. But Claire’s smiling wildly, white teeth flashing in her coffee-and-cream skin. She’s happy … and Steve said she’d been sinking into depression since the murder of her mother.

  “You’re doing great,” Amy says.

  “It’s easy!” says Claire, her hands buried in Sleipnir’s mane.

  “You make it look easy,” says Amy. Sleipnir has a beautiful smooth gait, but there’s no denying Claire’s posture is perfect. Maybe it’s all her training as a ballerina, but she sits up straight in the saddle, head high, and moves seemingly unconsciously with the big horse.

  Sleipnir gives a whicker, and Claire says, “Oh, look! Unicorns!”

  Amy raises her head. Where before had just been Buckingham fountain, dry and empty for the winter, there is now a herd of the world-walking, magical beasts, ears pricked in their direction.

  Before Amy has even recovered from her surprise, Claire says to Sleipnir, “Do you want to go visit your friends?”

  Sleipnir bobs his head, and Claire shouts, “Let’s go!”

  Obeying Claire’s command, Sleipnir gracefully pivots toward the unicorn herd. The movement is so smooth Claire doesn’t even wobble, but so quick that the loop of lead slips from Amy’s wrist and out of her hand. Amy almost curses―she’d been so lulled by Sleipnir’s obedient demeanor, she forgot that she had to worry about his rider’s temperament. Sprinting to catch up, she shouts, “Claire! Stop! Unicorns can be dangerous!”

  Looking over her shoulder, Claire says, “Unicorns like us, remember?”

  “But they might not like Sleipnir!” Amy says. As if to prove her point, the stallion of the herd trots forward, eyes on his eight-legged potential rival. Snorting, ears flattened against his neck, the unicorn stallion shakes his head and stomps his feet.

  Sleipnir, oblivious, or simply unafraid, continues to trot forward.

  Amy’s eyes widen. If Claire falls from his back … “Sleipnir, remember Claire,” Amy begs under her breath.

  She doesn’t expect Sleipnir to respond. But he does. He draws gently to a stop, as though being careful not to dislodge his young rider. Turning his head back in Amy’s direction, he pricks his ears in her direction. His big brown eyes look hauntingly knowing.

  She sucks in a breath as she catches the lead. Just how much does he understand?

  The unicorn stallion prances and gives a shrill, triumphant whinny.

  Turning to the other horse, Sleipnir trembles, his ears go back and his nostrils go wide, as though he’s resisting the urge to lunge.

  The mares in the herd start to whinny, roll their eyes, and snort. At first Amy thinks it’s at the antics of the two males, but then the unicorn stallion lifts its head, gaze going to a point in the sky beyond Amy’s shoulder. Rolling his eyes, he steps backwards.

  Amy turns her head and looks up. Swooping down from the sky is what looks like a flock of angels. Her eyes go wide. “Valkyries,” she says. The winged women warriors of Asgard.

  “What do they want?” says Claire.

  Amy’s blood runs cold. She remembers Bohdi’s prediction after their escape from Asgard, “Odin will never let us get away with this. He will hunt us until the end of our lives.”

  Thor said that Frigga was on Amy and Bohdi’s side, and that she’d claimed their escape was at her directive but …

  From the sky comes a bloodcurdling cry. Amy sees the Valkyries raise their spears. Even though they’re far away she can see the points of their weapons start to glow red. Pulling to the end of the lead, the big horse turns to face the Valkyries. Tossing his head he releases a bellow that is nearly as bloodcurdling as the winged warriors’ shrill cries.

  “Claire, hold on!” Amy shouts, lunging for Sleipnir’s long mane. She’s barely grabbed a handful of silky strands when a blast of red streaks in the periphery of her vision. The spot where she just stood erupts into flame. More beams of red streak around Amy, Sleipnir and
Claire.

  From the sky a Valkyrie shrieks, “Halt!” More beams of red streak to the ground, smoke rising up where grass begins to smolder.

  Sleipnir snorts. Tightening her grip in the stallion’s mane, Amy shouts, “Sleipnir, slip!”

  The stallion turns in place, and there is suddenly silence. Sleipnir is the fastest horse in the Nine Realms. Not because of his eight legs, but because he can slip through time―hence his name. Sleipnir translates to “the slipper.” Time stands still around Amy, Claire, and Sleipnir. There is no wind and it is absolutely silent. Claire looks down at Amy, eyes wide. Her mouth moves, but they are beyond sound now.

  Sleipnir is so tall, Amy is almost dangling from his mane, but she knows from Loki’s memories that she has to be physically touching the great horse to move through time with him. She looks around. The blast of plasma fire from the Valkyries’ spears hangs in the air, forming a cage around them, but there is a gap. Amy guides Sleipnir to the one passageway in the frozen fire. The big horse has to bend his neck to fit, but he doesn’t balk. Amy sees Claire’s arms shaking, as she presses herself to the horse’s back to fit beneath the beam of red.

  As soon as they’re through, Amy releases a breath. Still awkwardly clutching Sleipnir’s mane, she takes off at a jog toward headquarters. Looking over her shoulder, she checks on Claire. She doesn’t know what to expect―maybe fear, maybe tears. Claire’s face is sparkling with wet rivulets, but her mouth is set in a hard line that looks disturbingly out of place on a little girl.

  Amy can’t dwell on it. She guides Sleipnir around cars, bicycles, and pedestrians that are at an eerie standstill. She’s not an athlete but her body feels light―still, by the time she reaches the FBI’s office of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin’s (ADUO) headquarters, her fingers are hurting from clutching his mane, her arm is burning from the strain, and her heart is beating hard. When she sees what is greeting her outside of headquarters, her heart almost stops.

  Steve, Claire’s father, is standing in front of ADUO’s main door, hands on his hips, with agents on either side of him. Beatrice and Bohdi are on one side, Dale and the McDowell brothers on the other, plus several random agents Amy doesn’t recognize. Facing them is a line of a dozen Einherjar, Odin’s elite guard. Their spears are upraised, and the ends are glowing.

  She brings Sleipnir to a halt, her mind churning. Sleipnir turns his head and gives her another strangely intelligent look...as though waiting for her direction. But before she can think of a coherent plan, Sleipnir turns his head back around and trots toward the line of gleaming weapons.

  x x x x

  Nostrils wide, Sleipnir inhales deeply and takes in the many scents around him. On his back, the little two-legged foal, known as Claire, shivers. He restrains his instinctive reaction to mirror his rider’s nerves; he isn’t some skittish four-legged fool―or a foal.

  Surveying the scene with nose and eyes he realizes the reason for his little rider’s concern. The nearly black leader of the human herd, known as Director Rogers, is facing down at least twelve warriors of Sleipnir’s master, Odin. Their spears are ready to shoot flames. Director’s scent identifies him as one of Claire’s family members.

  Turning his head, Sleipnir looks back at the older, two-legged female called Amy, or sometimes, Doctor Lewis. Hands firmly fisted in his mane, she smells like fear. She hasn’t given him any direction. The magical rope that binds his nose and neck does not bite, or worse, whisper into his mind. It is like in the field when he is free to graze. Or sometimes, like in battle, when The Master trusts him to keep them safe.

  Sleipnir appreciates this respect for his intelligence. Also, he is fond of the little two-legged foal on his back. She brings him apples and carrots. And he feels a kinship with her. He heard Amy say Claire’s mother had just died in a fire. It is commonly believed that Sleipnir’s mother had died while foaling him, but that is a lie. Sleipnir’s mother was killed by fire, too. Stomping the ground, he tosses his head. He doesn’t have time to think of this. Have these warriors come to take him back to The Master’s herd? Will the humans be his new herd?

  His nose twitches. He’s not sure which herd he wants to belong to. But he doesn’t like that Claire is distressed. Is the tall two-leg-male her older brother, perhaps? He has seen the happiness foals get playing with their siblings in the field. He did not have that comfort when his mother died. But Claire can have it. He eyes the spears, and the two-legged-male, and makes a decision.

  He turns to the warriors, standing still as statues, as he slips through time. Amy is pulled along with him, and Claire digs her hand tightly in his mane. She is afraid. But in a moment, she will see she doesn’t have to be. Sleipnir has done this in battle many times before.

  Reaching one of the Asgardian warriors, Sleipnir uses his nose to knock the spear from the man’s hands, carefully avoiding the hot, glowing point. As an afterthought, he steps on the point with a hoof. The blade cracks beneath him, and its magic disintegrates. In his mane Claire’s hands relax. A moment later, he feels her chest fall down on his neck, and her arms wrap around his neck. A lesser horse might be disconcerted or unbalanced. But Sleipnir has been around two-legs for … centuries? Millennia? She is showing her affection for him. She knows what he is doing. It pleases him even more than carrots.

  He makes his way along the warriors to the end of the line. By the time he gets there, he is very tired. In battle, he would rear up to swiftly knock the weapons away with his hooves, but Claire would slip. Going slowly to keep her from falling off and slipping through time all at once is difficult. As he finishes, he is shivering with effort, his nostrils are blown wide, and he is wet and lathered with sweat. The two-legged Amy guides him to the line of human two-legs until he is right behind the one known as Bohdi.

  Sleipnir slips back into normal time. As he does he hears a cacophony of what sounds like crickets coming from the humans’ pockets. Do they keep insects as pets? As the crickets’ song tapers down to a steady chirp, Sleipnir bumps Bohdi’s back with his nose. Bohdi jumps forward, spins around, and throws up his arms and screams. “Horse!”

  Sleipnir shakes his mane and whinnies. Bohdi is fun. Like Loki was fun. And his mother? But, no, she wasn’t fun; she was worried. Afraid. Angry. But the magic light around his mother and Loki were the same. Flickering. Changing colors. Like flame. Mimir, the head without two legs, says humans have no magic light. That is not true. They do, but it is very faint unless they eat Idunn’s magic apples. Bohdi’s faint magic-light flickers, too, like flame. It makes Sleipnir happy.

  Around him the conversation of humans and Asgardians spins like water in a stream.

  “Our weapons!”

  “What happened to their spears?”

  But one voice stands out over the rest. “Dad! Sleipnir did it! He took away their spears!”

  Dad? Sleipnir pricks his ears in Director’s direction.

  Director turns, looks up at his daughter, and his eyes go wide. His mouth drops as well. Sleipnir can smell his fear.

  Ah. That’s right. Fathers stay with their foals in many two-leg family units, and in unicorn and wild horse herds, too. Sleipnir’s only spent time with his offspring in passing. He always tries to talk to them, but none of them has ever responded. They’ve all been just horses, like their mothers. Still, there is something about the smell of his little foals. Their scent is more appealing to him than the ripe fields of Vanaheim, or rolling hills of Elven clover, or even the dried tea leaves he finds so delicious.

  The Master has always been afraid that Sleipnir would be stolen, so while his mares go out to pasture with the little ones, Sleipnir has been kept in the stables or carefully guarded paddocks. Shaking his head, he looks at the humans around him. Apparently, Odin’s fear that he would be “rustled” was not just paranoia.

  One of The Master’s men, an Einherjar, steps forward. “You will give us the horse.”

  “Oh,” Amy murmurs. “They’re here for you … not Bohdi and me …”

>   Sleipnir snorts. Well, of course they’re here for him. Being captive to one herd is as good as being captive to another. If he turns himself in, no one will get hurt.

  He lifts a hoof, and finds Bohdi gazing at him. Sleipnir shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling an emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He’ll miss Bohdi―particularly picking him up by the back of his belt and swinging him around. None of the grooms in Asgard let him get away with that. He almost reaches forward with his muzzle ... but stops himself. He stamps six hooves at his own stupidity. Prolonging the inevitable only makes pain worse. He takes a step forward.

  “No, Sleipnir!” cries Claire. Because she rides him, for now she is his master. On Sleipnir’s head the Gleipnir begins to warm. He draws to a halt. “Dad! Don’t let them!” says the little two-legged foal.

  Turning to the line of The Master’s men, Claire’s father says, “No.”

  “You would defy the will of Odin?” says the Master’s lead man, drawing forward a pace.

  Claire’s father lifts his hands. “I don’t know who I’m defying. I am a magically stunted human. For all I know, you could be some clever trolls in clever illusions coming here to take the All Father’s horse and have him for dinner.”

  Sleipnir’s skin trembles. He feels like a hundred flies have just landed on his skin. He turns his head, ears pricked. Claire’s father is lying, he’s certain of it. Beside him Bohdi sniffs slightly.

  “We are not trolls,” snarls the Einherjar leader.

  Nodding his head, Claire’s father says, “I really want to believe you …”

  Sleipnir’s skin itches with even greater intensity. He swats his side with his tail. Bohdi sniffles and sneezes.

  “… but I can’t risk it. Have your superior contact my superior, and then I’ll give you the horse.”

  Sleipnir’s whole body itches. Shivering, he shakes his mane and swats his side with his tail. Bohdi lets loose another sneeze.

  “Enough of this!” says the Einherjar leader. “Give us the horse now!”