“I actually found that in the back of an old library when I was fifteen,” Marina explained. “I just thought it was interesting, and so the librarian paid me with it, instead of money, for straightening all his archival shelves.” She came up next to Bird and turned her gaze to the subject of her narrative. It was an old piece of parchment, three feet by three feet, its borders illuminated with ships and sea monsters and intricate, twisting knots. In the center had been drawn, in black ink, a broad stone gate, with an arched top—and in the center of the arch stood a carving of Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer. Through the center of the gate, a great, gnarled tree stood. And all around the gate stood a thick, thorny forest dotted with disembodied eyes—and a few wiry wolves with lolling tongues lurked between the rocks and shrubs.
“Looks frightening,” Bird remarked. “What’s the inscription, there at the bottom?”
“Stien til Asgard,” Marina said. “It means—”
“Gate to Asgard,” Bird finished. She blinked.
“You…You didn’t just memorize the Edda, did you?” she realized. “You know old Norse!”
“Yes,” he nodded absently, then pointed at the drawing. “What did your father have to say about this?”
Marina said nothing for a long moment. It was getting harder and harder to ignore that old pain, that shadow reaching up to smother her.
“He thought it was a real structure,” she managed, taking a deep breath. “Another dig site to investigate—maybe a place for ritual sacrifice or something.” She glanced down at the floor. “He seemed to think it was around here somewhere, actually.”
Bird looked at her sharply.
“He did?”
Marina lifted her head, and nodded.
“Yeah. Which is why I came and bought this house.” She paused, and gazed up at the drawing again. “Of course, neither of us believe it’s the gate to Asgard, but…” she shrugged tightly. “He was interested in it. It was almost enough to…” Her throat closed up, and she couldn’t keep going.
Bird stayed quiet for a long time. She didn’t look at him. Then, he drew himself up, and turned toward her.
“Hey,” he said, his tone easier. “There’s still some light out—want to go see if we can find a good spot for your oak?”
“Yeah,” Marina sucked in a deep breath, blinking tears back and tightening her arms around herself. She forced a smile and a glance in his direction. “Sounds good.”
Chapter Five
Afternoon sunlight flooded the side lawn, and birds fluttered between the branches of the trees beyond the iron fence. Marina sat on a patchwork quilt in the center of the yard, leaning comfortably back against a pillow and a lawn chair, a portable writing table in her lap. She had used masking tape to secure a tall, narrow piece of new parchment. Now her pen, which she had just dipped in red ink, hovered over the top right corner. Carefully, she set the pen tip down, and traced a delicate curl, creating the tongue of a Celtic-style illuminated dragon.
She paused, glanced up, and took a deep breath. The air smelled like pine and roses. She turned to her right, and looked down at Bird.
He lay on his back on the quilt, his head beside her, pillowed in his hands. His long-lashed eyes were closed, the sun beaming across his flawless face. He wore his usual plaid shirt and jeans. A lock of gold hair fell across his forehead. His broad chest rose as he took a breath.
“What are you illuminating?” he asked sleepily.
“Just the first few lines of Beowulf,” Marina answered, turning back and dipping her pen again. Out of the corner eye, she saw his mouth quirk up in a small smile.
“Just for fun?”
She smiled.
“I’m a geek like that.”
His smile broadened, but his eyes stayed shut. She glanced at him again, and her gaze lingered. She traced the perfection of his brow, his nose, his cheekbones, his lips—the shimmer in his hair, and the strong, graceful form of his body. And her heartbeat slowed.
He had been coming to her house almost every afternoon for almost three weeks, bringing with him a ready smile, a cheerful greeting, and the promise of easy, uncomplicated company for an hour or two. Sometimes, the two of them filled those couple hours with long discussions about vegetables, herbs, and breeds of roses as they dug through the garden. Other times, they hardly said five words to each other. But in either case, Marina always felt equally comfortable. Safe, even. Yet, as she stared at him now in the sunshine, suddenly too angelic to be real, pressure built inside her chest, and she swallowed.
As if sensing the change in her mood, he opened his vivid blue eyes—brighter than the sky today—turned and frowned at her.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Bird,” she said quietly. He sat up, propping himself up on one elbow and facing her. She gazed back at him for a moment, the ink on her pen drying as she tried to decide what she wanted to say.
“Where…” she began. “Where did you come from?”
He laughed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” she struggled, finally setting her pen down so she could gesture with her right hand. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life, but…” she looked at him earnestly, unable to articulate that building pressure in her chest. She set the writing desk aside so she could face him. “But I haven’t,” she finally said. “I’ve known you for a few weeks, and I don’t…I mean, I don’t know anything about you. Nothing about your family, or your friends, or…anything.”
He waited a moment, watching her.
“Are you afraid of me?” he finally wondered. She frowned for a moment, then shook her head.
“No,” she answered honestly. “But…well, sometimes you say strange things, like you know something I don’t. Or like you’re older than you look.”
He gazed back at her for a long moment, almost smiling. He glanced down.
“You want to know about my family?”
She hesitated.
“I’m not trying to pry,” she said. “I’m just—”
“Curious,” he finished, meeting her gaze again. “It’s okay, Marina—I actually have been kind of rude, haven’t I? You’ve shown me your garden and your father’s collection, and I haven’t said a word about any of my own stuff.”
“You weren’t being rude,” Marina insisted. “I’ve appreciated your company.”
He smiled again.
“Well, good,” he said. Then, he sat up all the way and cleared his throat, glancing out over the flowers. “Who do you want to hear about first?”
Marina shrugged.
“Um…how about your mother?”
“My mother,” Bird repeated, interlocking his fingers. “All right. My mother is the best sort of woman there is. Tall, beautiful, and kind of scary when she wants to be. But she takes her role as a mother very seriously—in fact, she sees to it that everyone who comes to visit is always happy and comfortable. If they aren’t, well, they’ll be sorry.”
Marina had to cover her mouth to repress a laugh. His glance sparkled.
“All right, who next?”
“Your father,” Marina urged.
“My father lost an eye when he was young,” Bird told her. “But that doesn’t stop him riding and hunting—he loves that. And he loves having people over for huge meals and telling stories all night.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Marina murmured. “About his eye, I mean.”
“I don’t think he misses it anymore. It’s been so long,” Bird answered. “It happened even before my brother was born, I think.”
“You have a brother?” Marina said.
Bird grinned.
“Yes—a big brother. He’s loud, and he’s as blonde as I am, but with a beard—and I’ve never tried to seriously wrestle him. I think he’d snap me in half.”
“He’s mean?” Marina winced.
“No!” Bird chuckled. “No, not at all. He’s fierce, but I don’t think there’s one cruel bone in his body. He just…overdoes it sometime
s.” Bird shifted on the quilt, some of the humor leaving his face. “Then there’s my extended family—well, sort of extended. They’re kind of…adopted relatives. There’s one who is good friends with my father—best friends—but he’s a lot younger than my father, so he spends quite a bit of time with my brother and me. He’s a lot of fun, and brilliant.” He paused for a moment. “Likes to cause problems, though.”
“What do you mean?” Marina wondered. Bird shrugged.
“Oh, you know—make people angry at each other for stupid reasons, because he likes confrontations and arguments.”
Marina frowned.
“He likes people yelling at each other?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Bird said. “Thinks it’s funny.”
Marina scowled.
“What a waste of time,” she muttered. “Life’s too short.”
Bird barked out a laugh—a sudden, uncontrolled sound that he instantly stifled with a snort. She gave him startled look—but he was nodding.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.”
As she watched, his abrupt onset of mirth faded—replaced by a look that seemed almost—sad.
“He’s…He’s always kind of been a fish out of water. Trying to fit in, but…And his brother and sister don’t help. His brother’s aggressive and has no sense of humor, and his sister—well, she likes to cause problems too. But she gets people hurt.”
Marina canted her head.
“Gets them hurt how?”
Bird looked the other way.
“All sorts of ways.” He went quiet for a long time, and for a second, Marina thought he might be done. Then, he took a breath.
“I think it’s probably been very hard on him, all these years,” he said thoughtfully. “Caught between two families.”
“He likes yours better?” Marina ventured. Bird almost smiled, but the shadow in his face remained.
“I think so. Yes, I think so,” he said quietly. “So I’m doing what I can to help him.”
For a long while, they remained quiet. Then, he lay back down, and closed his eyes to the sun. Marina couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. For what felt like the hundredth time, he held her captive. But the weight in her chest still bore down on her, constricting her ribcage.
“Bird,” she whispered, her throat tight as her vision filled with the light of his golden form. She swallowed hard, pulled her crippled hand against her, and made herself speak. “Why did you decide to keep me company?”
He didn’t answer. He just smiled faintly. She waited, now unable to draw a single breath. Then, his lips parted, and he sang—softly.
“Bird on a briar, bird, bird on a briar,
Mankind is come of love, so love he craves.
Blissful bird, have pity on me,
Or dig, love, dig for me my grave.
I am so blithe, so bright, bird on briar,
When I see that handmaid in the hall:
She is white of limb, lovely, true,
She is fair and flower of all.
Might I have her at my will,
Steadfast of love, lovely, true,
From my sorrow she may save me
Joy and bliss would me renew.”
Marina listened as his deep voice drew out a haunting, sorrowful, beautiful melody, which caused her blood to thrill and her heart to hurt. Absently, she realized that all the birds had gone silent, listening. And when he finished, not one of them chirped.
She swallowed hard, speechless, her mind blank. He didn’t say anything more. And so, her shaking hand picked up her pen again, and she resumed her illuminating work, as a few subdued birds dared to follow that song with their own.
She knew something was wrong the instant she opened the door. Startled, she stepped back as Bird’s tall form came stomping across the threshold, dripping wet.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “Did you walk here?”
“Um…” Bird ran a hand through his soaking hair. “Yes.”
“Why?” she demanded. “I wasn’t expecting you since the weather is so awful!”
Just then, a growl of thunder rolled overhead, and lightning flashed. Marina quickly stepped around him to shut the door on the dark Sunday afternoon and the pouring rain. The heavy oak thudded as it latched.
“Quick, take your shoes off and put them on the rug here,” she instructed, pointing with her good hand. He leaned one hand against the wall and tugged at his boots—one tumbled off, then the other.
“I’m actually on my way to visit my parents—thought I’d stop in and say hi,” he mumbled.
“How far away are your parents?” Marina asked.
“Not far,” he answered, straightening—and then she saw his face.
“You are white,” she gasped, stepping closer to him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the rest of his skin was ashen. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, but frowned and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, I just…I have a really bad headache all of a sudden.”
“Come here and sit down.” Marina took hold of his wrist and tugged on him. He padded after her in his socks, letting her pull him toward the sitting room fireplace, which she had blazing.
“Wait here a second—I’ll get a couple towels,” she said, and darted back down another hallway toward the little kitchen. She returned with one large towel and one medium—she draped the big one over the couch and had him sit on it, then handed him the small towel.
“For your hair and face,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said, leaned his elbows on his knees and began dabbing at his face and scrubbing at his hair.
“I’ll, um…go make some tea,” she suggested.
“Sounds good,” he nodded, closing his eyes and letting out a small sigh. Marina bit her lip, then returned to the kitchen. As she filled the kettle with water and fished out the teacups and saucers from the white cabinet, she listened toward the sitting room—but she only heard the wind whipping around the walls, the clatter of her blue china, and the rumble of thunder.
She set the kettle on the stovetop and turned on the heat, then slipped back out toward the room where he was. She stopped just at the mouth of the dark hallway, watching him.
Bird reached up and unclasped a chain around his neck, then pulled the necklace loose. A silver chain dangled from his hand, a simple pendant shaped like a bird dangling from the middle. He sighed again, winced, turned and lay back on the couch, laying his head on the armrest and closing his eyes. The necklace hung from his fingers, glittering in the firelight. Marina drew in a slow breath. The deep sunset glow from the fire flickered over him, and the curves of the couch, and the faded pattern of the rug. It barely touched the tall curtains and the shadowed paintings on the walls. Bird lay still, his chest rising and falling evenly. Marina wrapped her arms around herself hard.
The kettle whistled. She turned and hurried back to the kitchen.
She laid a tea tray out on the white counter, set the teacups on it, tossed a tea bag into the pot, and snatched the steaming kettle from the stove. Carefully—she’d spilled on herself too many times lately—she poured the hissing water into the teapot.
She had just emptied the last of it when Bird screamed.
She dropped the kettle.
It crashed on the linoleum. Burning drops scalded her ankles.
Marina leaped back, her hand flying to her throat. Then she jumped over the fallen kettle and raced down the hallway—
And skidded to a halt.
Bird thrashed on the couch, eyes screwed shut, hands clamped around the cushions. He sucked in a desperate breath, and let out another wrenching wail. His body twisted, he let go of the cushions, and flung his hands up to protect his face.
“Bird!” Marina cried, darting into the room and throwing herself down on her knees. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Bird, wake up!”
He twitched. His eyes flew open.
He sat up, tearing out of her grasp, and leape
d to his feet. She tumbled backward. Her left hand hit the floor. Pain shrieked through her wrist. She yelped.
“What…Where…?” Bird panted. Then, he spun toward her. “Marina?”
She just grimaced, cradling her left hand in her right as she tried to sit up.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice clearer now. He bent down, took hold of her elbows and pulled her to her feet—but she could feel him trembling.
“I’m so sorry,” he tried. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s okay,” she managed, trying to fight back her own shaking fit. She lifted her face and looked at him.
If she thought he was white before, that was nothing. And the circles around his gray eyes were practically black. The shadows of his face looked stark in the firelight, his hair disheveled.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, all thought of her hurt arm vanishing. He nodded quickly, swallowing.
“Yeah, I…” he took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly, and nodded again. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“You were screaming,” Marina said. “What’s the matter?”
He looked at her. Absently, she realized he still had hold of her arms. His grip gentled.
“Nightmare,” he sighed, glancing past her. “Bad habit of mine.” He let go, heaving a shaking sigh, then raked a hand through his damp hair. He turned toward the door. “I’ve…I think I’d better go.”
“Oh, no, don’t,” Marina urged, her chest tightening. “It’s raining so hard now, and you don’t feel well—”
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he muttered, suddenly absent and avoiding her eyes. “I’ll see you later Marina. Thank you.”
“But…” Marina stammered, following him as he strode toward the door. “At least let me…Let me give you an umbrella!”
“It’s okay,” he said again, ramming his boots on. “Goodnight.”
And the next moment, he had pulled the door open, and stepped out into the roaring rain.
The door slammed shut.
Marina stood there in the hall, her left hand still clutched to her chest, feeling the dark house turn hollow all around her.
Bauldr's Tears Page 4
