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

  Beside Claire’s father, the humans raise metal sticks that smell like sulfur and other things. The metal sticks make clicks. Behind Sleipnir, Valkyries’ cries rise as they approach in the sky. The humans keep the sticks pointed at the Einherjar.

  “Our bullets are lined with Promethean wire,” says Claire’s father.

  The itch that lie provokes makes Sleipnir shake his mane, swat his sides, and stamp his hooves. He hears Bohdi sneeze a third time.

  “… Hear it pierces your armor just fine,” says Claire’s father, his voice deep and low.

  The Valkyries start to land, dropping like raindrops by the male warriors.

  “We are not afraid of death!” the Einherjar says. “And we outnumber you.”

  Beside Sleipnir, Amy draws closer.

  “But the horse might get caught in the cross-fire,” says Claire’s father.

  Sleipnir raises his head and rolls his eyes between the human and the Asgardians. No itch at those words.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sleipnir,” whispers Amy.

  From his back, Claire shouts. “No!”

  Claire’s father says. “Have your superior talk to my superiors.”

  The Einherjar’s nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. “You’ll pay for this.”

  Claire’s father’s shoulders rise and fall, as though he is bothered by a fly. But Sleipnir recognizes it as a human gesture for “maybe so, oh, well.”

  Turning back to his men and the Valkyries, the Einherjar barks a few orders. The men and women from Asgard disappear, and beside Sleipnir the crickets in the humans’ pockets begin to sing again.

  “They’re just invisible,” one man says.

  “Hold your stance until the magic detectors say it’s all clear,” says Claire’s father.

  A few minutes later the cheeping of crickets draws almost to a stop. Amy exhales loudly.

  Claire’s father says, “Dale, you’ve got experience with horses―get this horse inside and my daughter off him―”

  “Four-legged horses,” says the human who must be Dale.

  Before Sleipnir can even snort, Claire’s father says, “Put Sleipnir in the lobby. I want him close.”

  Someone speaks. “He might―”

  But Claire’s father cuts that person off. “Well, then get a shovel! Hernandez, I want a full security detail on Sleipnir. Doctor Lewis and Bohdi, you’re with me.”

  “I’m not leaving Sleipnir,” says Claire.

  Director’s shoulders sag. He opens his mouth and looks up at her. Sleipnir’s ears perk forward expectantly.

  The man exhales. “Claire … alright.” He swallows audibly. “Doctor Lewis! Bohdi! My office.” And then he strides away.

  Sleipnir blinks. Well. That was interesting.

  x x x x

  Steve walks so fast in front of Amy that she has to jog to keep up. As they approach his office he grumbles. “What was my daughter doing on top of a ten-foot tall horse?”

  “Come on,” says Amy. “That is an exaggeration. He’s only about 21 hands―err―seven feet tall at the withers, tops.” Amy would never have been able to hang on during the slip, but thankfully, his mane is as long as a Friesian’s―a breed typically used for dressage.

  Steve stops and shoots a glare in Amy’s direction.

  “Sleipnir’s perfectly safe,” says Bohdi.

  Amy’s eyes widen. All things considered, that’s a very nice, but peculiar, assessment coming from Bohdi. Sleipnir seems to find particular joy in picking Bohdi up by the back of his belt and swinging him around.

  “It made Claire happy,” Bohdi continues. Flicking his lighter, his eyes flit to Amy. “I saw you on your way out … she was smiling.”

  Amy nods.

  Steve’s eyes slide to Bohdi, and his frame relaxes slightly. Without another word, he sets off toward his office again. Skipping to keep up she manages to mouth the words, “Thank you,” to Bohdi. He shrugs and looks away, thumb still working the flint wheel of his lighter.

  Things between them have been awkward since they got back. Bohdi apparently had been dating Marion, a pretty agent in the office, and then lied about it when they were in Nornheim. Which was weird. Maybe he just thought he was going to die at the time? Amy’s trying not to dwell on it. Obviously, he’s a little unreliable―except when your life is on the line, when he is very reliable―and why Amy’s willing to forgive that fib.

  She frowns as she enters Steve’s office, Bohdi a step behind. Of course, finding out about Marion had hurt. Maybe it still hurts. And they haven’t talked about it, which hurts more. They’ve barely talked at all and …

  Steve shuts the door behind her abruptly, and Amy jumps in place. Her boss walks over and closes the blinds. Amy looks around; they’re completely surrounded by Promethean Wire, the magic-blocking mesh that keeps out the prying of Heimdall. Heimdall is Odin’s spy, and his magical ability is to be able to see and hear everything anywhere in the Nine Realms to which he directs his attention.

  Leaning on his desk, Steve says, “Odin apparently wants Sleipnir back, quite a bit.” His lip curls and his nostrils flare. “Recent events … have me not wanting Odin to get anything he wants.”

  Amy’s mouth falls open. Odin’s attack on Kiev had killed Steve’s ex-wife. He hasn’t said much about it; he just gets quiet whenever the topic comes up. Now, however, he’s radiating rage.

  She nervously swipes a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

  “What do you have in mind?” says Bohdi.

  Steve shakes his head. “I wouldn’t care if the horse broke a leg―”

  “No!” shouts Amy.

  Bohdi’s lighter flickers.

  “He’s not just an animal!” says Amy. And even if he were, that would still be completely wrong.

  Steve’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Pardon?”

  “I think he may be self-aware.” Amy blurts the words out without thinking; but as soon as she says them, she realizes how much she believes them.

  “Also, Claire would kill you,” says Bohdi, his lips quirked in a sharp smile.

  Steve looks between the two of them, and then his glare settles on Amy. “What do you mean, self-aware?”

  Amy looks at her shoes. “Sometimes magical animals, they are much smarter than you’d think based on the size of their prefrontal cortex.”

  “In English, Doctor Lewis,” Steve grinds out.

  Amy lifts her eyes. “He doesn’t just understand commands like, stop, go, and trot … he understands non-specific requests, like when I told him to be careful because Claire was on his back.”

  Steve waves his hand dismissively. “Isn’t that just a Gleipnir thing? Didn’t you say that magical halter makes him obey?”

  Amy blinks. “It could be…” And then her eyes open wide. “No, it can’t. Because he broke the Einherjar spears on his own, I didn’t give him any orders.”

  “So maybe he’s like those Lollapalooza trick ponies,” says Steve.

  “What?” says Bohdi.

  “Do you mean Lipizzaner stallions?” says Amy.

  Steve grumbles. “Whatever. The point is, he is a war horse, maybe he’s trained to do that to the enemy.”

  “Why would he consider Odin’s men the enemy, though?” Bohdi says. “I mean…even if he is just a horse, wouldn’t they smell like home? And wouldn’t he have been trained to recognize Odin’s men on the battlefield?”

  Steve rubs his jaw. “The evidence is slim. I don’t buy it.”

  At that moment, Steve’s phone rings. His eyebrows rise. “That’s the director,” he says.

  “Of the Midwest region?” asks Bohdi.

  Steve shakes his head. “Of the FBI.” Leaning with one hand on his desk he wipes his jaw. And then he picks up the phone and presses it to his ear.

  Bohdi’s eyes meet Amy’s. She pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. He flips his lighter between his fingers; his gaze shifts to Steve.

  Turning his back to them, Steve says, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Well, s
ir, there is a complication with that―it has come to our attention that Sleipnir possibly should be given the status of non-human personhood, and therefore may be entitled to the rights of asylum, if he so chooses.”

  Amy blinks. Wait. Steve just said he doesn’t believe that.

  “I’ll let you talk to our veterinarian,” Steve says quickly, pressing a button on the phone base.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” says an unfamiliar voice.

  Steve puts his phone down and starts frantically writing something on a Post-It.

  “Well,” says Amy.

  Steve holds up the Post-It note. Amy’s eyes go wide. It reads, BUY TIME!

  Nodding quickly, she says, “He’s exhibited signs of higher awareness, and I’d like to set up some tests. It would probably take oh, maybe months …”

  Steve nods and Bohdi gives her a thumbs-up.

  Ad-libbing, Amy says, “I’d have to consult with the animal researchers who work with chimps and dolphin―”

  “The Einherjar will be back in Chicago in precisely one hour. You will give them the horse,” says the voice on the other end of the line.

  Amy sucks in a breath. Steve straightens. Bohdi’s lighter flickers.

  “That’s an order,” the director says. The line goes dead and the sound of a dial tone fills the room.

  Amy stares at the phone. Disconnecting it, Steve stands back and rubs his forehead.

  “That was so fast … he wouldn’t even discuss the possibility,” says Amy, a little in shock.

  “Odin’s got an inside man,” says Bohdi, staring at the phone.

  “What?” says Amy.

  Steve nods at Bohdi and then looks back down at the phone. “Odin is already influencing members of the U.S. government,” Steve says. Jaw getting tight, he looks up at Amy. “We can’t keep the horse.”

  Bohdi waves a hand and takes a step forward. “But if he’s knocking Einherjar’s spears away, maybe he doesn’t want to go back!”

  “Keeping him would be taking on the U.S. government―and I know how that would turn out!” Steve says. “Ol’ Slippy would wind up back with Odin.” Pointing his thumb at his chest, he says, “I’d wind up in jail, and you,” he points a finger at Bohdi, “would be on a plane to Gitmo.”

  Amy gulps. “Maybe there is a third way?”

  Bohdi and Steve both turn to her.

  She shrugs. “Maybe we can give Sleipnir a choice?”

  “He can’t stay,” says Steve.

  “Not between Odin and us,” says Amy. “Between Odin and freedom.” She gulps again. “Of course we’d have to remove the Gleipnir, since with it on Sleipnir would be under compulsion …”

  Steve straightens. Narrowing his eyes he says, “You have 56 minutes.”

  x x x x

  Sleipnir holds very still.

  Beneath his head, Dale says, “Good boy, hold still, Buddy.”

  He says it as though Sleipnir has a choice. If he did otherwise, he’d feel Gleipnir’s bite … and the insidious creep of the magic inside his mind.

  Sleipnir feels a tug at the magical halter. “Damn,” says Dale. “I can’t loosen either knot.” Gleipnir is tied in two knots. One is beneath Sleipnir’s ears, the other beneath the front of his muzzle. It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to remove it. Was it Hoenir who’d tried last?

  He swishes his tail. Sleipnir hadn’t expected Dale to succeed. Or even try. He is touched by the effort, though.

  Dale pats his nose. “Sorry, Big Guy.”

  “What’s wrong?” asks Claire, pulling out a carrot, and holding it out to Sleipnir.

  Dale shakes his head, a crease showing between his brows. “This halter they put on him is too tight. Look, it’s scarred the skin on his nose and behind his ears,” he says touching the afflicted areas … Not that Sleipnir feels that pain anymore. He only feels Gleipnir’s magical bite and insidious whispers. But after the fire that killed his mother, when Odin first put it on, it used to keep him awake at night.

  Shaking his head, Sleipnir blows air on Dale’s belly in thanks, and then takes the carrot from Claire’s hand. Munching it, he lets his eyes wander around the lobby. The way to the outside is guarded by twelve men wearing flimsy-looking, black cloth armor. The building has a lot more glass than he is accustomed to. The entire wall facing the street is made of the fragile material. Beyond the transparent wall he sees horseless carriages and strange mechanical horses with two wheels that the humans propel with their feet. Inside, the building echoes with conversations, footsteps, and strange air noises. It also smells like dust. And cockroaches. They could really use a few spidermice.

  “They shouldn’t do that to him, Uncle Dale,” says Claire. Sleipnir can tell from his scent that Dale is not her blood kin. Are they family by choice perhaps? They look nothing alike. Claire is a bay foal. She has brown skin and a gleaming black mane that is pulled into decorative pillows on either side of her head. Dale has that peculiar two-legged coloring that Sleipnir thinks of as “inverse palomino.” His hair is the color of dirty straw. His skin is pale. Frost giants tend to have this coloring. Aesir tend to look more like real palominos, and the Vanir are colored like Claire. But Aesir, Vanir, and Frost Giants are all magical, and humans are not. Poor stunted, magic-less creatures, indeed.

  Claire’s tiny nose wrinkles. “He’s really smart, he’s like a person-smart.”

  Dale peels the lid off of some “Quaker-Oats-the-last-they-had-at-the-convenience-store,” and holds it up for Sleipnir. It smells like oats … But Sleipnir’s much more interested in the little glass bottle of lemony-smelling tea at Dale’s feet. He stamps a hoof. To get that he’ll need to wait until Dale is properly distracted. Swallowing the last bit of carrot, Sleipnir stuffs his nose into the strange, brightly colored, cylindrical box. It’s definitely oats … but they have a strange texture. Smooth. Not as crunchy as he’s used to. Still, not terrible.

  “I’m not saying he isn’t smart,” says Dale. Sleipnir cocks one ear in his direction. “See,” says Dale. “Look at his ears? How they follow our conversation? I’m just saying, horse smart isn’t the same as people smart.”

  Claire stomps one of her tiny, soft feet. “Sleipnir, if you understand everything we say, nod your head three times.”

  Sleipnir’s ears perk and then go back. It’s not like he hasn’t heard such requests before … and they always come to naught. He huffs, and decides to ignore her. Instead, he takes another bite of oats.

  Claire’s body sags.

  Sleipnir’s jaw stills.

  The foal looks at him with her big, foalish eyes … He smells saltiness on her face, an indication of two-legged sadness.

  He huffs again. Pulling his nose out of the Quaker-Oats he nods vigorously three times.

  “See!” says Claire.

  Snorting, Sleipnir sticks his nose back into the oats.

  Dale sighs. “Claire, there used to be a circus pony who could do math. People would ask him what 2 + 2 was or 19 + 1, and he’d stamp his feet until he got the right answer.”

  Sleipnir rolls his eyes. Is that what Dale thinks he is, a trick pony?

  “I didn’t ask him to stamp his feet,” says Claire. “I asked him to nod three times!”

  Sleipnir stamps a foot for emphasis.

  Dale shakes his head.

  At that moment, in the swirling echo of conversation and air circulation, Sleipnir hears two familiar footsteps coming from behind―but not too closely, not in kicking distance. Doctor Amy isn’t a horse idiot. Bohdi might be, but he’s sticking close to her.

  Lifting his snout, Sleipnir turns and says hello. Of course it comes out a horse whinny. He has horse vocal cords. His ears prick forward. Bohdi is carrying a metal container.

  Walking over to them, Sleipnir presses his nose to the soft part of Amy’s upper torso … just to see Bohdi’s nostrils flare. They do. Nose still pressed against Amy, Sleipnir laughs at him. It also comes out a whinny.

  “Is he laughing at me?” Bohdi sa
ys.

  “Yes,” says Dale. “Horses definitely laugh.”

  Pulling away, Sleipnir snorts. That’s true. Even the dumb ones. His ears go back. The smart ones too. The unicorn stallion had laughed at him today and called him ‘puppet horse’ and ‘slave of a two-legged’ before his herd had told him to shut up, that Valkyries were coming. And then the mares had harangued the stallion for leading them away from the fields of Vanaheim. Sleipnir’s neck drops thinking about the herd. The mares were so lovely, and how wonderful it would be to have females that spoke their mind!

  “What’s with the wastebasket?” says Dale, snapping Sleipnir from his imaginings.

  “We’re taking off the halter,” says Bohdi. Sleipnir’s ears perk. And then go back. Stupid, not-magical two-legs. Snorting, he stamps his hooves. Then he realizes that all the humans are looking at the wastebasket. He smells opportunity. And tea. He pulls his muzzle from the oats, and casually drops his head. Dale and Claire both step toward Amy and Bohdi. Sleipnir wraps his lips around the top of the glass bottle …

  “What’s that inside it?” Dale says, looking into the metal container.

  Grasping the bottle firmly, Sleipnir swings his head up. Cold, tangy tea and lemon course across his tongue, down his throat, and out of the corners of his mouth. It’s delicious.

  “Hey!” shouts Dale. “Drop that right now!”

  Gleipnir picks up the urgency of Dale’s command, and the magic halter burns Sleipnir’s snout. His jaw goes slack and the bottle drops from his lips, crashing on the floor. Shivering in pain, Sleipnir bobs his head and stamps a hoof. Glass crunches under his hoof.

  “I think you hurt him, Uncle Dale,” says Claire.

  “I think Gleipnir hurt him,” Amy says. She steps over to Sleipnir. “We can take it off.”

  Snorting, Sleipnir puts back his ears. Foolish human.

  Stroking his nose, Doctor Amy says, “The wastebasket is lined with Promethean wire. If you put your nose into it, we’re pretty sure we can get the harness off.”

  Sleipnir backs up. His eyes roll.

  “Don’t be afraid,” says Amy.

  Sleipnir snorts. He isn’t afraid, he’s terrified. Gleipnir can control his deeds, but not his emotions, though sometimes he wishes it could. He takes another step back.