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!”
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, sir, 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 says.
“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.
Doctor Amy doesn’t order him forward. Instead she steps up to him and strokes his nose again. “You’re so big, I know your heart must be magical to support all those extra legs. That’s why we’re not putting you in a magically sealed room. We don’t want you to have a cardiac arrest. But putting your nose into the wastebasket shouldn’t be a problem.”
Sleipnir shivers. That isn’t what he’s afraid of. He’s not really sure what he’s afraid of.
He takes a step closer to the wastebasket, and then another. But he doesn’t put his nose in. Bohdi puts the wastebasket down onto the floor. “Go on,” says Bohdi. “Don’t you want to be free?”
Free. The last time he had seriously considered that ... his mother had been alive. Is he afraid this won’t work, or that it will? He remembers his mother snuffling against his side, whispering, “You deserve to be free Sleipnir, we both do.”
He’d stomped his small hooves. “But this is our herd, isn’t it mother? Why would we want to leave?”
He tosses his head. There is no use thinking about this. He swings his head around, eyes the wastebasket, and stomps his hooves again. He’s acting like a silly foal, afraid to leave the barn for the first time. He shouldn’t be afraid, because it won’t work. Stupid humans. He’ll show them how silly they are being. He puts his snout into the wastebasket. It smells like sticky-sweet syrupy things, and rotten meatish-things. Even dumb horses have the sense to fear the smell of rotten meat. His instincts scream at him to lift his head, to rear back, and to flee, but he only snorts. Yuck.
Bohdi kneels down beside him and moves his hand under his chin. “It’s not coming loose,” he says. Sleipnir snorts again. Of course it’s not.
Turning to another two-leg, Amy says, “More wire, over here, please.” Sleipnir eyes the unfinished canister of oats, not sure why he doesn’t move, and why he humors them.
A few moments later, Amy unwinds what looks like a sheet of mesh. “I’m going to put this over your head,” she says. “We need more coverage.” She takes a deep breath. “Hold still.”
And of course he has to.
The mesh drops.
He smells rotten meat. He is in almost darkness. He hears too many people. He screams in fear. Something flashes in the corner of his vision. Sleipnir rears. The humans shout.
Wire falls from his eyes and slides down his neck. Sleipnir finds himself rearing high on his back four legs uncertain how he got there. He feels light―and adrift―like his mane when it’s caught in a breeze. He stares down between his churning front hooves. Bohdi is splayed out on the floor beneath him. His eyes are wide, and he smells like fear. A knife is in his hands, and a shiny bit of rope sparkles on the floor beside him.
It takes Sleipnir a moment to realize the shiny rope is Gleipnir. He drops his hooves gently, being careful not to break Bohdi’s legs. With a gasp, Bohdi scampers backwards, on his hands. Sleipnir snuffles at him.
“What happened?” Dale says.
Doctor Amy comes over and pats his neck. “Hey, Sleipnir. Are you okay? I think that the Promethean Wire turned off your mind for a moment. It’s gone now, though. How are you feeling?”
How does he feel? Sleipnir tosses his head. He feels light. The skin where the halter once cut behind his ears feels cool. And a pain beneath his ears and forelock he hadn’t even realized was there is gone.
Sleipnir turns his head to make sure no one is behind him, and then releases a kick.
“Whoa! Easy boy,” says Dale.
There is no burn around his muzzle. Sleipnir kicks again, just to see if he can. He whinnies a laugh, snorts, and prances around the room. The space is small, but he feels like he’s in a wide-open field. He bugles in triumph and glee, throws back his head, and rears again as high as he can. His head connects with something fragile above. He hears the sound of breaking glass and dances backwards, his feet crunching over fallen shards on the ground. Drawing to a stop his eyes go wide in alarm. He lifts his head, nostrils flared. He smells blood. Human blood. He swings his head around, and sees Claire, backed up against a wall, holding her hand; a tiny rivulet of red is falling between her fingers to the floor. She smells like fear …
Sleipnir’s neck drops, his ears flop, and he stands perfectly still. A leader of horses or two-legs cares for foals. In only a minute of freedom he has managed to hurt Claire. Once Odin had declared him “one of the most powerful weapons in the Nine Realms”, and maybe he is, but he is not fit to lead. He belongs in a herd, with a master.
“Whoa, guy,” says Dale, walking over and petting his neck. “You just got carried away there. No need to be sad.”
And isn’t communication and understanding what Sleipnir’s craves? But for some reason, Dale’s reading his emotions irks him. Flattening his ears, Sleipnir grunts and bares his teeth.
Dale doesn’t move. He snorts back at Sleipnir. “You’re not the first horse to give me attitude.” Continuing to stroke Sleipnir’s neck he says, “You’ll be alright.”
Amy comes closer. “We need to ask him if he wants to go back to Asgard―or if he wants to go―”
“Go where?” says Claire, drawing a little closer, holding her injured hand close to her midsection.
“Free,” says Bohdi.
“No!” says Claire. “He wants to stay with us.” She still smells like fear, but presses her head to his neck. “Don’t you?” He hears her sniff. And smells salt and sadness. His ears flop again and he nickers softly. She still wants him as part of her herd.
Dale’s hand stops stroking Sleipnir. “If you let him go, you’ll piss off Odin.”
There is a click, and a flame flickers to life by Bohdi’s fingers without any source of magic Sleipnir can detect. Though he smells something―gas maybe? Amy sighs and touches the side of Sleipnir’s muzzle. “If you do decide to go free, Sleipnir … don’t worry … I’ll just say that I thought it would be good to put a different halter on you and, you know, I’ll say it was an accident …”
Lifting his neck, Sleipnir flattens his ears. That is a very bad idea. Odin is not going to believe such a clumsy lie.
Dale coughs. “And here’s the other thing. He is a big horse. There is a reason most wild horses are small. This guy … he needs a lot of food. Maybe more than he can find on his own.”
Sleipnir turns his head to Dale. He isn’t lying. His concern is genuine. But Sleipnir thinks of the unicorns. They smelled of the Vanaheim plains, and rich, ripe grains. He wouldn’t have to worry about food as long as he can World Walk. He shakes his head and whinnies a response to Dale. Of course it goes over the head of all the humans in his company.
“He’s not going to leave!” says Claire. “He doesn’t want to!”
Does he want to? Every inch of his skin shivers. And then he thinks of Amy and Bohdi letting him free, and what Odin does to anyone who crosses him.
The voice of Claire’s father booms through the room. “Claire, come with me.”
Claire turns. “But, Dad … ” she says. Her voice is too high.
“Come with me, we need to talk,” says her father.
Bowing her head, Claire walks over to her father. Putting a forelimb around her shoulder, he leads her from the room.
As soon as she’s gone, Dale says, “So is Loki really this bad boy’s mother?”
Sleipnir snorts and bares his teeth again. That old lie. How could a two-leg, much less a male who was younger than him by almost a century, be his mother?
“His name is Sleipnir, not Bad Boy,” says Amy.
“Well?” says Dale.
Amy says nothing.
“Kinky bastard,” laughs Dale.
“It wasn’t like that,” says Amy. “It was an incarnation of Loki.”
Sleipnir’s ears prick. An incarnation of Loki? Outside his stable, he’s heard enough Hindu and Buddhist Einherjars discuss reincarnation in their religions to know what that means. He thinks of his mother’s flickering aura and Loki’s flickering aura …
He looks back at Amy. And she’s not lying.
His eyes go to Bohdi …
No …
Bohdi is staring at the ceiling. Sleipnir huffs and Bohdi’s eyes go to him, and his lips purse.
No … No … No …
“So, he did turn himself into a horse to have sex with another horse!” says Dale.
“No!” says Amy. “Did you understand any of what I just said?”
“Loki had sex with a horse as a horse,” says Dale.
“Let’s not discuss this in front of Sleipnir,” says Amy. “I’m sure Sleipnir’s very uncomfortable with us discussing his parents’ sex life.”
Sleipnir lifts his head, ears pricked forward. No. No, he doesn’t find it uncomfortable at all. How did his parents meet? His mother was a very clever horse, and he’s heard even Odin remark how strong and intelligent his father was. How did they find each other? Why didn’t his father stay with them? Was he a puppet horse, too? Sleipnir never got that impression. Were they in love? He’s heard his grooms discuss wild horses and unicorns; they fall in love.
“See? He’s curious,” says Dale. “He wants to know.” Still laughing, he turns to Sleipnir and says, “Nod your head once and stamp each of your second to rear hooves once if that’s true.”
Sleipnir nods and stamps.
Dale’s laughter stops, and he takes a step back, his jaw falling.
Amy gulps.
There is a click in Bohdi’s hand and a tiny flame rises from Bohdi’s thumb again. Sleipnir turns his head quickly to the bay-colored male human.
At that moment, Claire and her father re-enter the room. “Well, did you pose the question to the horse?” says her father.
“His name is Sleipnir,” sniffles Claire. Her face is awash with salty water.
“No, we were just discussing Sleipnir’s lineage,” says Dale softly.
“Not around my daughter,” says Claire’s father. “Amy, Bohdi, talk to...Slippy. Dale, you come with me for a moment.”
Dale looks at Sleipnir, and says, “Yeah …”
The two men walk down a hallway and pass through a set of doors. A wide enough hallway and set of doors. “About Sleipnir’s heritage,” Sleipnir hears Director say.
Amy comes close. “Sleipnir, it’s up to you.”
Claire sniffles. “My dad says you can’t stay. But I really want you to.”
“You’re free, if that’s what you want,” says Bohdi softly.
Want? Freedom? Without Gleipnir he’s already free. Does he want to leave Odin’s herd? He doesn’t know, but there is something he knows he wants.
Sleipnir concentrates―and all the noises in the building stop. Amy’s hand pauses in midair. Outside the enormous glass windows the horseless carriages and two-wheeled machines come to a halt. Carefully pushing past the humans, Sleipnir steps through time and follows Director and Dale, leaving Amy, Claire and Bohdi frozen in time. Pushing a pair of double doors open with his nose and gently closing them behind him, he finds himself in another, shorter and narrower hallway with a low ceiling. His nostrils go wide; he doesn’t like such small spaces. But he shakes his head and then trots down the hall to where a door is suspended in the motion of shutting.
Sleipnir slips back into normal time. The door slams shut. From behind the door, he hears Dale say, “So, should I consider converting to Buddhism or Hinduism?”
In the lobby, shouts of “Where did he go?” rise up. To the humans there, it must look like he’s vanished into thin air.
Sleipnir presses an ear to the door concealing Claire’s father and Dale. “I don’t know, but you won’t talk about Sleipnir’s lineage around my daughter,” Claire’s father says. “Or around Sleipnir. On the off chance he is sentient, I don’t want him knowing that Odin cornered his mother with an angry stallion.”
Sleipnir’s ears go back. He senses no lie. Odin’s grooms don’t allow stallions around mares when they are in a bad mood. He’s heard what an angry stallion can do to a cornered mare―an unhinged male has been known to kill a trapped female on occasion. His skin trembles. His nostrils flare. He remembers his mother saying. “We have to be free, we have to be free, Sleipnir.”
“But why?” Sleipnir had asked. “The master is good to us. And he even says someday I may meet my father!”
Shivering, she’d shaken her head. “No, trust me. I’ll set the barn ablaze, and then we’ll run.”
Sleipnir’s legs feel weak. He remembers the blaze. His mother’s scream of pain…
His neck droops. He remembers his own protests, his own fear, and his hesitation in the inferno. If he hadn’t hesitated …
Sleipnir almost sinks to the ground. He feels despair for his mother and all the humans his freedom will cost. He thinks of Amy, about to give some weak defense; Dale trying to release Gleipnir just out of decency; Claire crying in the lobby after he hurt her; and Bohdi, flicking his lighter and telling Sleipnir that it was his choice.
Sleipnir’s ears flop. Bohdi cut Gleipnir. If Sleipnir runs to the plains of Vanaheim, Odin will want to punish Bohdi as much or more than anyone … and Bohdi flickers like flame.
Over the millennia, Sleipnir has learned to suppress his memories of his mother’s passing, but now they tumble through his mind. He remembers standing in the barn in the inferno set by her. “Now Sleipnir,” she’d said. “Now we must slip.” But he’d hesitated. Eyes rolling in terror he’d stared up at the flames. The terror wasn’t for the blaze, he knew he still had time, he could slip anytime he wanted―but leaving the safety of the herd, giving up any chance to see his father.
At that moment, the door to the barn had burst wide open, and Odin himself had stepped in. Stamping her feet, his mother had faced the Allfather, bellowing, “Slip, Sleipnir, slip!” But he hadn’t. He was afraid. And then he’d watched as a blazing support beam fell from the ceiling and struck her down.
Shivering, he stomps his hooves. He hasn’t thought of this in so long. Had Gleipnir held back the memories? Or had he suppressed them himself, because he’d killed her, hadn’t he? The only being in the Nine Realms who’d loved him and spoken to him as an equal. The one member of his true kin herd.
He tosses his head. He doesn’t deserve freedom, and as sweet as the plains of Vanaheim might be, as lovely as the unicorn mares are, he will not destroy the two-legs who’d tried to deliver freedom to him again. He begins to pace the small hallway. Even though he no longer wears Gleipnir, he feels it bite his nose and behind his ears. The first thing Odin’s men will do is put the magical halter back on. His head droops, and his ears fall. He deserves no less.
From the room he’d just been eavesdropping on, Dale steps out into the hallway.
“What’s wrong with him?” says Director, stepping out behind him.
“He’s sad,” says Dale.
“What about?” says Director.
“Sleipnir, did you hear us?” Dale says.
Sleipnir bobs his head three times and stomps his hooves in the sign Dale had taught him for “Yes.”
Dale says a word for manure, and then scratching his head, he says, “I think he really might be sentient.”
Sleipnir stops his pacing. His muzzle droops to the ground. Being finally understood and recognized just before his inevitable return to servitude doesn’t make him feel any better.
x x x x
In the lobby of ADUO’s headquarters, Amy holds the cards up for Sleipnir. One has a crude caricature of Odin drawn on it. The other has a flower.
“Sleipnir, it’s up to you,” she whispers.
Without hesitation, Sleipnir touches his nose to the picture of Odin.
Amy’s arms fall. Beside her Beatrice sighs.
Claire is standing beside Sleipnir, quietly sobbing. Steve’s rubbing her back. Dale steps up to the big animal and puts a hand on his neck.
Amy looks at the big horse. She’s already tried telling him that Loki was happy to find out Sleipnir was his son. Or her son, as the incarnation in that case had been. She left out that Loki’s joy was in discovering he’d kept oaths across lifetimes. He’d promised to take care of Sleipnir’s daddy as Lopt, and then Lopt had died, come back as a mare, and fulfilled that promise.
Patting Sleipnir’s neck, Dale drawls in his Texas twang. “You know, a lot of us have fathers we’re not proud of. But that isn’t a reflection on us. Steve could tell you stories about my dad …”
Sleipnir stamps a hoof, waits a beat, and gives a shorter tap on the ground. It’s Morse code for, “No.” Brett and Bryant, the scrappy West Virginians, had come up with the idea to teach him … of course, there wasn’t enough time for him to learn all of the language.
Someone runs in the door and says, “They’re coming.”
From behind Amy, Bohdi clears his throat. He steps around and gingerly puts his hand on Sleipnir’s muzzle. “So, I’m kind of weak on the parenting thing. I don’t even know my parents. But I have it on good authority that parents just really want their kids to be happy.”
Sleipnir pushes his nose against Bohdi and huffs out a long breath of air. “You do what makes you happy, okay, Big Guy?” Bohdi says.
Sleipnir blows a long breath of air out on Bohdi’s stomach.
Amy holds up the cards again―just in case.
Lifting his head, Sleipnir touches his nose to the picture of Odin.
She thinks she hears a collective sigh from around the room.
“They’re here!” shouts a man at the door.
Bohdi pats Sleipnir’s neck again. “I guess next time we meet, we’ll be on different sides. Still, glad I got a chance to know you.”
Sleipnir’s skin begins to shiver all over.
x x x x
And there is the flaw in Sleipnir’s plan to save his two-legged friends. The Master will face off against these humans. He imagines rearing over Bohdi again, this time in battle, flames all around … He shakes his head. No, it is not the same as the fire that killed his mother, he may not even be there when they face off. He stomps his hooves and feels vaguely ill, like he is coming down with a case of colic.
He looks to the large glass wall. The horseless carriages no longer move down the streets. There are no weaponless two-legged humans about. Across the street stand The Master’s men, the Einherjar. Among them he sees the rider and trainer Sleipnir dislikes with a passion―Riddari, a Vanir who never hesitates to hit him with a crop or kick him with spurs, even though all Sleipnir needs is instruction; Gleipnir compels him to do what his rider says.
Sleipnir lifts his head and pricks his ears. Of course, he doesn’t have Gleipnir on, so Odin would send his most merciless rider. Sleipnir’s ears plaster against his head. He hates Riddari. He wants to run, just to spite the cruel man.
He feels a soft hand on his neck and hears a sniffling noise. He glances down and sees tiny Claire has leaned her head against him. Where her face touches him he feels wetness and warmth. If Sleipnir runs now, the blame for his escape will go on these humans. His ears prick forward, and his nostrils widen, taking in the collective smell of sadness from Claire, Amy, Bohdi, and even Dale. Director doesn’t look sad, he only smells agitated. Sleipnir doesn’t begrudge him that. Director is the leader. He has to be most worried about his herd.
Sleipnir huffs and stamps a hoof. There must be some way he can make an escape and let the blame fall on the Master’s men. He looks to Riddari standing at the head of the warriors. Sleipnir’s ears flatten. Or even better, a way to make it look like it is all Riddari's fault. Sleipnir swats his sides with his tail, though no fly buzzes on his skin. It is just sheer irritation. Loki was the God of Mischief, and Sleipnir has been told on occasion he is a mischievous horse―Riddari had even whipped him for his “antics.” Surely, just as his lineage has given him the ability to talk and slip through time, it should give him an idea of how to make an escape look like Riddari’s fault?
His nostrils widen, and he lifts his head high. He does have an idea … He almost laughs, but then Claire sniffs, and he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He wishes he could speak human tongue just so he could say goodbye. With a sigh he steps back and nibbles a little at one of the decorative pillows in her hair.
x x x x
Amy watches as Sleipnir gently tickles Claire’s pigtails with his lips.
“That’s a kiss, String Bean,” Dale says.
Dale is big and loud and sort of a stereotype of what Amy imagines a Texan to be. But he does know horses … and has been talking to Sleipnir like he’s a person since he came back from his chat with Steve. Amy swallows and wipes an eye. He might be an all right guy.
Sleipnir touches his nose to Claire’s shoulder and then kneels down on his front legs.
“What’s he doing?” says Steve.
Amy’s eyes widen in recognition. Sleipnir had done the same for her and Bohdi in Asgard. “He’s asking Claire to get on.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Steve starts to say … but Claire has already scampered onto Sleipnir’s saddle-less back. Sleipnir gently rises and starts to walk slowly to the door. Amy follows.
The sight out front makes her heart fall even farther. Across LaSalle Street is a line of Einherjar warriors and Valkyries in alternating formation, spears at their sides. Another man with a riding crop and spurs stands in the middle of the street.
Steve’s phone starts ringing. He puts it to his ear and she hears him say, “We’re bringing him out right now.”
Two agents open the double doors. Putting down the phone, Steve grabs Sleipnir’s mane. “You are not taking her with you.” Turning his head, Sleipnir snorts, and taps out No with a hoof. And then he walks forward, slowly and regally.
Amy exits through another door, Bohdi, Beatrice, and Steve behind her. As she steps out into the cold air she gasps. The street is barricaded. And there is press everywhere; there is even a helicopter in the sky.
Steve coughs into his hand. “I thought if he was going to trot free, it would be good for the press to be here. Thought positive public opinion might have saved us our jobs … and possibly kept us out of prison,” he mutters.
Amy bites her lip. It had been a good idea. Too bad it didn’t work that way.
She follows Sleipnir’s path with her eyes. Claire is sitting with her back straight, head high. She looks so tiny and determined. Cameras click everywhere, and Amy thinks that at least one of the pictures is sure to win an award. A beautiful, graceful, little girl with warm brown skin on an eight-legged white horse. It’s a picture from a fairy tale.
Around her agents spill out of the building. “Form a line,” Steve says―and they do. One agent moves into position across from every Asgardian warrior.
As both parties square off against each other on opposite sides of the street, cameras click around them.
Sleipnir approaches the man standing in the middle of the street and bows down again. Collective “Awwws” rise from the crowd.
Wiping her eyes, Claire gets off and leans forward to say something to Sleipnir. The big horse does not respond. Nor rise.
Beside Amy, Steve steps forward. “Claire, come here!”
Biting her lip, Claire bolts across the street and rushes into her father’s arms.
The man with the spurs gets onto Sleipnir’s back and gives him a harsh kick and a swat with the crop. As the stallion rises, the man cries, “He isn’t wearing Gleipnir.”
Claire sniffs in Steve’s arms, and Amy can actually feel Steve tense beside her, and she swears she can hear his teeth grind. She feels her own stomach drop. Bohdi cut Gleipnir with his knife, but they can still knot the harness back on Sleipnir’s muzzle―it will be tight and cruel, but she doubts that will stop them.
Leaning down, Steve whispers in Claire’s ear. “Stay here with Dr. Lewis. I’m going to give Sleipnir one more chance to escape.” Turning, Amy watches as Steve lifts his arm from Claire’s shoulder and kisses her head.
Claire nods and doesn’t protest as Steve steps toward Sleipnir and his rider. Raising his head, Steve says in a booming voice. “He doesn’t need Gleipnir. That horse is a sentient being and he doesn’t need that magical shackle.”
Cameras click. The crowd murmurs.
As the volume of the crowd dies down, Steve says, “You saw―he let my little girl ride him!”
Another collective “Awww” rises from the crowd.
“Bring us the Gleipnir!” says Sleipnir’s new rider. The rider nods to a Valkyrie. The winged woman approaches the line of humans, hand outstretched. Steve pulls Gleipnir out of his pocket.
Beneath the rider, Sleipnir taps out No with a hoof.
Stepping from the line, Amy says, “He doesn’t want to wear it!”
Claire steps out too. “He’s saying no!”
Steve stops. When he speaks, he turns in the direction of the crowd. “Our veterinarian is right. We taught Sleipnir Morse code. He’s been telling us for the past hour that he wants to return to Odin…” He shakes his head and holds up Gleipnir. The halter glistens bright and white against Steve’s very dark skin. “But this is a shackle! It forces Sleipnir to obey. It makes him a slave!”
The crowd gasps.
“Give us Gleipnir!” says the rider.
From the line, Hernandez, holding a phone to his ear, calls out, “The Director says to give it to them.”
Turning from the crowd, shaking his head and frowning, Steve walks over to the Valkyrie, and puts the magical halter in her hands. The crowd grumbles.
The man on Sleipnir’s back says something Amy can’t hear. The winged woman approaches Sleipnir’s muzzle, Gleipnir upraised.
Sleipnir steps back and taps hard with his hoof. No.
The Einherjar digs his heels into Sleipnir’s haunches and barks something, Sleipnir screams in pain, and blood appears at the big horses haunches. The crowd gasps. The Valkyrie takes a step closer, and Sleipnir backs up, ears pressed flat back, furiously tapping No with his hoof.
The man on his back kicks him hard again and barks an order. Einherjar run from the line, spears upraised. They’ve almost surrounded the horse and rider, when Sleipnir and the man on his back disappear.
The crowd roars.
The Einherjar are in a circle around the space Sleipnir used to be when Sleipnir reappears a few paces away, the rider still on his back. Before the Einherjar can even turn, Sleipnir ducks his head, arches his spine, kicks up his hind legs, and gives a mighty twist to the right. The man, obviously an accomplished rider, doesn’t fall off. But Sleipnir, still balancing on his four front hooves, slings his hindquarters higher, and twists to the left and then to the right again so fast he’s almost a blur. The man on his back plunges to the pavement. Amy’s jaw falls. It’s a sequence of movements that a horse with four legs could never pull off.
As soon as his back hooves are on the ground, Sleipnir rears. Churning his front hooves in the air, he utters a sound that any person who’s ever been around horses knows is a laugh. The crowd goes wild.
Sleipnir vanishes again but reappears a few seconds later beyond the crowd on Jackson Street. He rears up one more time, his hooves pointed in the direction of Grant Park, and bellows another laugh. And then he disappears.
The Einherjar shout something. Steve holds up his hands. “You shouldn’t have tried to enslave him. But he told us he wanted to be back with Odin. Maybe if you go home you’ll find he’s already there?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Steve’s lips when he says it. Amy raises an eyebrow―her boss doesn’t believe that for a minute. The man Sleipnir threw climbs shakily to his feet. His neck bobs as he swallows.
One of the Einherjar barks a command in Asgardian. The Valkyries give a cry and take to the sky. The warriors, and rider, disappear. Every magic detector in the FBI agents’ pockets starts chirping like mad … and then go silent a few moments later. The press starts to call out, “Director Rogers! Director Rogers, do you have a statement.” Giving them what Amy thinks of as his patented politician smile, Steve strides to meet them, one arm around Claire’s slender shoulders.
Beside her, Bohdi chuckles, “I would not want to be the guy that ordered Gleipnir put back on.”
Amy taps her chin. “We handed Sleipnir over, after he insisted that he really wanted to go home … So Odin can’t really blame us …”
Dale whistles. “That’s one slippery horse.”
Bohdi smiles. “I approve.”
The street is noisy with the clicks of cameras, the shouts of reporters, and the resuming of traffic. Even with that, echoing through the city’s concrete canyon, Amy swears she hears a whinny.
~Fin
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