Chapter Six
It rained all the next day. Never once did it ease, or let the sun peek through for an instant. In the gray dark, as the water whipped the walls, Marina busied herself with unpacking the rest of her cardboard boxes, and carefully hauling some of them up and down the narrow, squeaky, pokey staircase that led to the upper bedrooms. She unloaded her books, clothes, bedding, jewelry, pictures and keepsakes and began arranging them in the tower room, never minding the thunder that cracked and rumbled not far above her head, or the lightning that flashed through the single curved window. She had two lamps—one on the table and one on the dresser—that lit the room well enough. The antique overhead light didn’t show any sign of life, though she changed the light bulbs and clicked the switch up and down several times before giving up. She had made up her twin-sized bed, hung her clothes in the tiny corner closet, spread a rug over the creaky wood floor and had stacked half her books in the short bookcase when she heard a trickling sound in the other room.
After pausing just an instant to listen, she got up, hurried out and into the bathroom, her stocking feet padding on the floor…
To discover water leaking through the ceiling and into the claw-foot bathtub. She let out a curse and grabbed a fistful of her hair, staring at the new brown stain on the white paint. She spun around, darted out of the bedroom and back into her room, and snatched up her cell phone from her night stand where it had been charging. She dialed a number, and held it to her ear.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hi, this is Bird. Leave me a message.”
Beep.
“Hi, Bird,” Marina began. “I…I hate to bother you on a Saturday while you’re visiting your family but…I have a little problem. The ceiling in my bathroom is leaking. Thankfully, it’s dripping down into my bathtub, so it isn’t getting all over my tile, but…I, well—I hope it’s just the rain, and not a broken pipe. In the wall.” She grimaced at the thought, and curled her left hand up against her chest. “Anyway, if you could just call me back and tell me what I ought to do, that would be great. And then maybe, when the rain stops, you could come over and see…you know, what’s the matter. I’d appreciate it. Hope you’re feeling better. Thanks. Bye.”
She hung up, her stomach tightening. Keeping hold of the phone, she wandered back into the bathroom and gazed at that slow drip, her brow knitting. For several minutes she watched it, but the stain didn’t seem to be spreading, and the drips did not get larger or more frequent. She bit her lip, shifted…
Then reluctantly retreated to her room, vowing to listen carefully for any change. She knelt back down on the rug, set the phone on the floor, and put her right hand to work stacking her pocket collection of the complete works of William Shakespeare. Then she moved on to the works of Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens…
But Bird didn’t call back.
She finished her room, fixed herself supper, ate it, curled up on the couch and distractedly tried to read a few pages of Beowulf—all the while sending glances at her still, silent phone.
When her mantel clock finally struck ten thirty, she gave in, shut her book, put it down and crept upstairs to get ready for bed. She stalwartly ignored the drip, drip, drip in the corner as she brushed her teeth, her stomach tightening harder. All at once, that drip didn’t matter so much.
Thunder crisscrossed just outside as she got dressed in her pajamas and climbed into bed. She set her phone down on her night table, then snuggled uneasily under the sheets.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The thunder growled again.
But all the dark night long, her phone never rang.
Marina shivered, wrapping her long brown jacket tighter around herself. The day had dawned clear and bright—but suddenly chilly. It almost felt like September back in New York. Her shoes crunched on the sand as she strode down the shoulder of the dirt road. Ancient pines and budding trees hugged the road, and in the brisk gusts of wind that blew her braided hair, she could smell the brine. Brilliant white gulls spun and dove far above in the crystal sky, their cries falling faintly down to earth. Birds twittered in the tangled shrubs on either side, and little white blossoms winked at her from the grass as she passed by.
At last, Marina rounded the corner, and the dirt turned to black paving beneath her feet. The rumble of a few cars greeted her, and as she hopped up onto the sidewalk, the quiet busy-ness of the sleepy main street surrounded her. She strolled under the overhang and past several shops, nodded at a few people who passed her, watched a couple trucks roll by to her left, and admired the colorful banners flapping from the lamp-posts before finally catching sight of the building she was hunting for: a tall, broad, wide-windowed business with a hand-painted red sign reading: Svenson’s Plumbing Carpentry and Landscaping
Marina hurried across the street between two cars, hopped up, and pushed the jangling front door open. Instantly, the scent of newly-sawed pine flooded her, and she glanced around a cluttered workshop filled with all manner of table-saws, tools, half-done furniture and wood-littered countertops. In some other back room, she heard one of these saws busily whining.
“Good morning!”
She turned to see a man with a white beard and twinkling eyes, wearing cover-alls, carry an unvarnished rocking chair in through a side door.
“Good morning,” Marina answered.
“How can I help you?” the man asked, setting the chair down with a thunk and dusting off his hands.
“Is Bird Oldeson here?” Marina asked.
The man’s cheerful expression vanished, and his eyebrows drew together.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Marina blinked.
“He isn’t?”
“Nope,” the man sighed, shaking his head as he stepped up to the counter near her. “He quit on me the other day. Said he had some family business he had to take care of in Colorado.”
Marina stared at him, not understanding what she was hearing.
“What…? He’s gone?”
The man sat down in a chair and nodded, glancing up at her.
“Yeah, moved all of his things out of his trailer yesterday—he stopped by my house to say goodbye last night before heading out.”
“But…” Marina stammered, feeling as if the room was tilting sideways. “I thought…I thought all his family lived around here!”
“No,” he shook his head. “No family at all here. He’s only been here for a few months. He came here for the fishing, initially, then needed some extra pocket money, so I hired him on. It’s a shame I had to lose him—he’s one of the best workers I’ve ever had. A real good kid, so friendly, always on time…I’m Jim Larson by the way.” And he stuck out a worn, calloused hand. Marina took his fingers, and numbly shook his hand.
“Marina Feroe,” she managed.
“Feroe!” he said, his eyebrows going up as he released her. “Bird was doing some work for you, wasn’t he? Windows?”
Marina just nodded, trying to keep her eyes focused.
“You’re satisfied with what he did, aren’t you?” Larson leaned forward, worried. “Like I said, I’ve never had a better—”
“I’ve got a leak,” Marina cut in. “A leak in my bathroom ceiling. I need…I need someone to fix it.”
“Sure!” Larson nodded. “Sure, no problem. I think Richard’s got some time tomorrow morning—want me to send him on by?”
“That would be good,” Marina nodded. “Thank you.”
Mr. Larson may have said something back to her, but Marina didn’t hear. She turned and pushed through the door—it seemed strangely silent, now. She trailed back down the sidewalk, looking straight ahead, but the people and cars made no noise, and she didn’t see any banners. Her footsteps met the paving, but as if she was walking on feathers. No sand crunched under her heels as she walked down the lane. The flowers were invisible, the trees withdrawn. Gulls flickered overhead, but their voices stayed mute.
She traips
ed up the walk to her house, and opened the silent front door. Didn’t bother taking off her coat. She found her way to the living room, and stood in the center of the floor for an eternity.
At last, she eased down onto the couch, staring into the empty fireplace, and remained there until the shadows of twilight filtered in through the windows and covered her.
A gust of wind shuddering against the walls made her lift her head.
She blinked slowly. Pulled her arms closer to her chest. Her left hand ached—ached all the way up to her elbow, her shoulder, her whole side. Listlessly, she shivered, and realized it had gotten dark outside. And in this room, a chill had gathered. She glanced at the fireplace. Stayed where she was.
The wind rustled again, with a nasty edge. The branches of that twisted rosebush outside slapped against the window. Marina did not move.
Then…
A howl.
A long, piercing, wailing howl of descending notes that sent a chill crawling down Marina’s spine.
Her vision sharpened. She sat up straight.
A wolf.
Close by.
Stiffly, she rose to her feet, and stepped quietly into the dark entryway. She paused by the door, distantly frowning.
There, again. A lonely, rising call leaping up into the night to plunge back down into the silence. As she listened, it came once more…
And another voice joined it. Then another.
She swallowed.
She knew all the old stories liked to exaggerate the wolf’s fierceness into a brand of evil. She knew they were nothing more than wild dogs, doing what they needed to survive…
A slicing, unearthly song interrupted her thoughts. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling her body go cold.
They could not be any further away than the edge of her garden. Right there, in those very woods.
She reached out and noisily bolted the front door, then hurried back into the sitting room. Marina knelt on the rug, tossed a few logs into the hearth and lit a fire. Heat bloomed beneath her hand, and yellow light startled her eyes. She tugged her jacket even tighter around herself, pulled her knees up to her chest and sat back against the leg of the couch.
The wolves outside began a chorus of haunting singing, setting her teeth on edge.
A twinkle, out of the corner of her right eye.
She frowned, and glanced over.
Went still.
Then, hesitantly, she reached out, and touched the edge of a delicate silver chain sticking out from beneath the couch. She wrapped her fingers around it, and gently tugged it free.
A small silver pendant, beautifully shaped like a bird in flight, glimmered in the firelight as it hung from the chain by her finger.
Marina gazed at it for a long while.
Then, with clumsy, shaking fingers, she quickly unclasped it—cursing again at her crippled hand—and fastened it around her neck. Finally secured, she reached up and pressed the pendant against her breastbone and burst into tears.
She sank down onto the floor on her left side, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks, curling up tight and sobbing, as the wolves continued their eerie, gleeful choir all around the walls of her house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marina’s eyes flew open.
She couldn’t see anything.
Wind rushed and battered all around the windows. The fire had burnt itself into low, sinister embers.
Lightning flashed.
For an instant, the whole room blazed in a white flashbulb of light, then plunged back into blackness. Thunder crackled and snarled in answer.
Marina sat up. Her whole back panged, and she couldn’t feel her left forearm. She could, however, still feel the tear-tracks on her cheeks. She frowned, shifting uncomfortably. Had the storm awakened her?
Scrape, scrape, scrape…
She tilted her head. The low digging sound cut through even the gale, and seemed to be coming from just outside the window straight in front of her.
Her eyes slowly widened. Her throat locked.
But she climbed to her feet.
Stiffly, she crept toward the window, holding her breath. The rosebush out there scraped against the panes. She held out her right hand and touched the wooden frame.
Another flash of lightning.
She flinched back.
Someone.
Someone was out there. Half-turned away from her, but distinct.
For just an instant, she had seen him—a tall, winsome form. He wore flowing white, and what looked like…
Armor. Shining armor.
An icy-pale, handsome face, and hair like snow.
A familiar face.
Crack.
Lightning blazed across the sky. Marina’s lips parted.
He was gone.
She turned, dodged around a chair and ran to the door. She unbolted the lock, grabbed the handle and tugged the heavy door open. It gave way, and the wind blasted her. She leaped out onto the porch, her heart pounding.
Once more, a bolt of white electricity sliced through the sky, lighting up her front walk and side lawn like day. The wind whipped her hair. Where was he, where…?
There.
There, walking away from her…
Toward that tangle of wicked-looking woods.
She clenched her teeth and sucked in a breath as her heart skipped three beats. She pressed her left arm close to her as her whole body quivered. Her balance teetered on the edge of the step, her whole being suspended…
She reached up, fumbling, and closed her fingers around that bird pendant.
And she jumped off her porch.
She narrowly avoided tripping and crashing into a rosebush, and skidded on a paving stone. But then her shoes caught traction on the grass and she hurried through the darkness, the night clouds roiling overhead. She couldn’t see him anymore.
She swished through the herb garden and the shrubbery, the storm gnashing just above her. Gritting her teeth, she squeezed the pendant harder. And she passed the first oak tree.
Silence fell.
The wind died.
Marina jerked to a stop, panting. She shifted, looking all around—leaves crunched under her feet. Her breath suddenly rang too loudly through the forest. Not even the slightest breeze disturbed the uppermost branches of the ancient trees.
“Ohhhh…” she rasped, leaning back and going cold down to her bones. “I should...”
Something.
A movement…
A light.
Far, far ahead of her. Low to the ground. Quiet blue…
And growing.
Filling the woods—but the deep black shadows remained. As if the light and the dark had only grudgingly agreed to share this corner wilderness.
Marina stood motionless, barely breathing.
Then, she slid her right foot forward. Then her left.
Very, very carefully, she picked her way between the tangled tresses of the wild vines and the sprawling ferns, rustling through the dead underbrush as she moved.
Less than a hundred yards, and the light grew brighter with every step. She fixed her attention on it, trying to distinguish what was making it, and see if it was standing still…
She drew close. Rested her right palm against the rough bark of an oak, and leaned into its shadow. Her eyes narrowed…
The light moved.
She jerked.
It hoisted up in one, swift movement—
And she saw him.
A man.
A different man.
He towered, perhaps six-and-a-half feet tall. He had wild, windblown blonde hair, half tied back; and a short beard. His face—handsome, striking and carven, his eyes blazing, his strong, heavy brow frowning fiercely. He wore a dark blue cloak that draped over his chest and flowed over his arms and down his back—and the cloak rustled without a breeze, and transformed into clouds of rolling vapor around his ankles. His metal bracers glittered, as did the silver embroidery on his trousers, and the high buckles
on his tall boots. At his wide belt hung a great hammer, its rune-covered head glimmering. And in his left hand he held up a small lantern, from which the blue light shone.
Marina wrapped her fingers around her throat.
And the next instant, someone else strode into the halo from the lantern.
Him!
It was him—the one she had seen outside her window. His long white clothes flowed and whispered like summer clouds, catching and reflecting every bit of light. His spare armor, shining on his shoulders, upper chest and forearms, glittered with tiny jewels. He lifted his flaxen head, and spoke.
And when he did, she knew his voice.
Bird.
“What are you doing here?” he asked the bearded man with the lantern.
“I came to find you,” the bearded man answered in a deep, rumbling voice, turning toward him. “Mother wanted you this morning, but you were nowhere.” The taller man searched Bird’s face with his vivid eyes, and his brow knitted differently. “What were you doing?”
“Running an errand,” Bird replied, sighing and glancing around. “We should go, before your storm lifts.”
Marina’s eyes flashed.
The bearded man looked straight up, then back at Bird.
“All right, come.” He kicked his head back, and turned…
Halted.
Bird’s form stiffened. Both men stared at the ground.
Marina’s breath slowed.
A mist came crawling through the dead leaves from somewhere off to Bird’s far left. An unnatural, gray, snake-like mist, with creeping fingers and slithering tendrils. Slowly, the two men lifted their heads and gazed into the woods, toward the source.
Marina’s heart skipped a beat, and she could no longer hold her breath. It started coming short and sharp. But she couldn’t even move, let alone turn and run.
A new figure slipped into view. Silent on the underbrush—graceful, smooth and deadly.
A woman.
She wore draping black—it drifted all around her in shadow, and dripped from her limbs like ink into water. She had ash-white skin, and raven hair that fell all the way down to her knees. Marina could only see her in profile, but she glimpsed her right eye—and it had no white. All black, like obsidian. When she saw the two men, her comely mouth smiled, and she languidly canted her head, showing off her slender, icy neck.
Bauldr's Tears Page 5
